Second Chances
by Nudgy Turian
Summary: Preview: Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?
1. Deconstruction

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes:** This story is **rated R **(overall) for some mature content. As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

* * *

It was just past two o'clock on a blustery, dreary day late in December when an attractive couple rose from their table at the Great Court Restaurant and readied themselves to leave.

He was a tall, attractively built fellow with piercing, wide set eyes and she a beautiful young lady with close-cropped hair and a winning smile...

**Second Chances**

**Chapter 1: Deconstruction**

Evey sighed happily as she watched V don his black, knee length wool coat.

He looked great in it.

She had just had the best meal out she could recall; excellent food, a full stomach and best of all the company of the one she loved above all others had made this a day to remember.

As he finished adjusting his coat, V caught her watching him and smiled. "Looks like you enjoyed this nearly as much as I did," he said.

"You're very observant," she replied dryly.

Throwing an arm around her, he pulled her against his side and gave her a slight shake before squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. "Tsk, tsk, love, sarcasm does not suit you." he mock chastised.

Together they made their way to the entrance, which led out into the great hall of the British Museum.

"What will you be doing now?" she asked.

He looked around. "Oh, I thought I would visit Russell Square Gardens for a bit while the weather held and then I plan on coming back here and checking out the exhibits until they let you out."

"And where shall I meet you?"

He looked down at her, amusement crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll find you."

With a dubious nod, she began to turn away, but his hand caught her arm and pulled her back for a quick kiss. "There now," he said, for her ears only. "Something to keep you thinking of me."

She laughed aloud then. "As if I could get my mind on something else!"

With a final nod and a quick squeeze of her arm, he headed straight ahead towards the main exit to Great Russell Street.

Evey watched him disappear from sight, unable to draw her eyes from his confident, yet graceful stride. So it was only after he exited the building that she turned and saw a co-worked standing nearby staring at her agog.

Audrey Barnell had been working in the cataloging department at the museum for a little more than a year. An outgoing, opinionated woman, she was twenty-seven years of age, tall, thin and completely hung up on her appearance. She had never had a relationship that lasted more than a few years and seemed unlikely ever to find a man perfect enough to suit her.

Evey tolerated her, but had trouble handling her shallow and self-centered nature for more than a half hour at a time. All-in-all Audrey was the last person she would have wanted catching her personal moment with V.

With a quick smile at Audrey, she headed for the escalators, hoping to avoid any discussions.

It didn't work.

Audrey quickly intercepted her and joined her for the ride up.

"Evey!" she gushed. "Who was that gorgeous fellow; your boyfriend?"

"Yes, he's my partner," she answered shortly.

"Partner, eh? So then it's serious?"

She nodded and shot the woman a very annoyed look. "Very!"

"Ah, too bad. Why must all the good ones be taken?" Audrey sighed.

"Like attracts like," was her quick reply as they reached the next floor. "Excuse me." Without waiting for Audrey to catch up or catch on, she headed directly for the elevators and made it in just as the doors closed behind her.

"Thank God," she breathed. Then she giggled at the irony of it all: that Audrey would be so hot for V, basing her entire perception of him on a false face... "He's definitely not her type, nor she his," she said aloud with another small laugh.

Thankfully Audrey must have stopped off somewhere to chat someone up, because she didn't return to their work area for a good long while.

And by then Evey had found something else to work on out at the displays.

* * *

Out on the street, V took a moment to enjoy the feel of the breeze. Even with a realistic mask covering most of his face, he still felt so much more than he did behind the Fawkes facade. The strangest sensation, not that he had all that much sensation on his face, was the feeling of coolness. He had become so used to having his scarred skin completely covered by the unyielding mask of old that he hadn't realized how much heat it held in.

Snapping out of his revelry, he turned left on Great Russell Street and walked towards the next intersection, where he made a left on Montague. It would take him straight on north to Russell Square Gardens.

As he walked, he thought back on the afternoon.

It had been very nice to surprise Evey, and even better to see the look on her face when she first set eyes on him. The best was yet to come, and biding the time until then would prove difficult. Best that he make good use of it and enjoy his reappearance in society.

A short while later he entered the garden. It was becoming blustery and the temperature was dropping, rain threatening to fall at any time. As a result, he had the area all to himself. There wasn't really anything to see in the outdoor garden this time of year, but he had no wish to go inside just yet and so he sat upon a bench where he could observe the street beyond.

People bustled by, braving the weather and the traffic, each caught up in their own personal experience of the afternoon. Perhaps they were returning to work, perhaps running errands so that they could get dinner started. Maybe they were heading to the college down the street...

He watched their faces and wondered; 'Is that someone I once knew?' and 'What would I be doing now had I not been detained and sent to Larkhill?'

As usual the thoughts triggered a cascade of disturbing thoughts and emotions. Who had he been? Had he been different than he now was or did the 'he' of now retain the same basic personality and temperament as the original him? Had he loved? Was he married? Did he have children who missed him? Did anyone remember and miss him?

Would he ever be whole again?

A familiar chill began to creep into his bones, which had nothing at all to do with the weather. In the past he had endured it, reminding himself that he would rest soon enough...

But now he had someone else to think of; and she was perhaps the key to solving his dilemma. He loved her more than he loved himself, whoever he was, and he owed it to her to try to make a go of this.

He could be content with merely being, couldn't he? Did he have to label himself; couldn't he just consider the 'he' of the last twenty-plus years the original and forget the past? Couldn't Evey take the place of lost family and friends and become his anchor in this storm of the unknown?

STOP!

He made himself take deep, slow breaths to calm the agitation threatening to consume him.

He had a new plan. He had a woman who loved him as he was. For now that was enough. He could continue on and try to keep some hope alive. After all, who knew what the future held? Some people woke from comas and yet others regained lost memories every day, didn't they?

Perhaps one day his nightmare would end; he would wake up.

He just had to tough it out long enough for it to happen…

Standing, he rubbed his arms and headed back towards the museum.

* * *

"Hey, Evey, there's someone here to see you," Martha announced with more than a little excitement. "I daresay that it's your man. Oh, but he seems to be as wonderful as you said he was! Talk about manners..." she sighed.

It brought a huge smile to Evey's face to see her co-worker so happy for her. Martha Wilerson was a very likable young lady about the same age as she. Not much taller than Evey, she was a bit pudgy and had long, sleek shiny black hair that reminded her of V's wig and which she envied. Martha displayed a great deal of empathy when interacting with others. Basically, she was a smart and caring woman and it was she who Evey had bonded with on the job. Martha had been working there only a few weeks longer than she had and had already managed to wheedle a good deal of her private life out of her.

"Thanks, dear," she replied, as she rose to her feet. "Would you like to meet him?"

Martha nudged her with an elbow and gave her a 'what are you, kidding?' look that made her laugh.

Taking a moment, Evey straightened up her work area and then collected her coat from the rack in the front of the room. With Martha trailing her, she stepped out the doorway to greet her lover.

Unfortunately, the sight that greeted her eyes twisted her stomach in a knot, for there was Audrey, perched on the edge of a desk and leaning suggestively towards V.

For his part, V was holding his ground, legs firmly planted in that no-nonsense attitude he often displayed, but all his body language instantly shifted from a guarding attitude to a very pleased one that gave Evey every bit of his attention when he saw her enter the small outer office.

In an instant he had crossed the room and taking her hands, planted a kiss on her cheek.

"V, I'd like to introduce you to my good friend, Martha," she said, stepping back so that they could meet. "Martha, this is V."

He stepped forward to greet her friend, bending to take her hand and touching his lips to it. "Martha, it is very good to meet you. I've heard so much about you that I feel as though I know you already," he crooned.

Martha looked about to swoon and literally stammered out a, "S-s-same here."

Meanwhile, Audrey's eyes shot daggers at them across the room.

"I'd introduce you to Audrey but I see you've already met," Evey added.

"Yes." It was V's sole remark, aside from a quick nod of his head in acknowledgment.

"Well, you two… have a good evening. See you in the morning, Evey." Martha wished them well and with a quick wave disappeared back into the inner cataloging room.

Still perched on the desk, Audrey managed a disgruntled, "Bye," and sniffed as they passed her.

Once down the hallway, V gave Evey a knowing glance. "I'm glad you showed when you did," he said. "In another moment I might have had to defend myself."

She laughed. "Yes, well... it's a good thing that I didn't end up having to jump into a fray; I would have had to seriously hurt her and think of the paperwork that would have been generated by that incident! The museum grapevine would have gone bonkers!"

It was his turn to laugh.

Then they were heading down the stairs and she needed to rush just to keep up with him. "I guess that must be a pretty new experience for you..."

He gave her a glance and then slowed his forward momentum so that she could speak without panting. "I don't know... I recently had one very determined young lady of my acquaintance throw herself at me... and she was much better at it than Audrey."

She blushed. "Well at least I was very WELL acquainted with you at that point."

He threw her a wry smirk. "Yes, well I can't help but wonder what Audrey's reaction would have been if I had shown up without a mask of any sort." He shuddered.

Having reached the main floor, she took hold of his arm and stopped him, then moved to face him. "Love, I get judged by my looks all the time. Don't think on it so much. As cliché as it sounds, most of us wish to be judged on merit, not on our outward appearance."

"And who am I to merit any tender treatment?" he asked bitterly. "All I have done that I can recall is blow up the Old Bailey, kill people either for revenge or because they came between me and my goals, and set in motion the downfall of this government."

Evey was aghast at his words. "You saved me..." she protested. "You've saved others up on the street... haven't you?"

The look he turned on her made her insides shrivel. "No. You're the only one, and that only because I happened to be passing that way and hoping for some company on my big night."

"V... there's more to you than that. I've seen it. Trust in me if you won't trust in yourself; you ARE a worthy person. How could I love you if that weren't so?"

He sighed and relaxed, then took her hands. "I'm sorry, Evey. I didn't mean to distress you and especially tonight. I apologize for my predisposition to sudden mood swings and I can only hope you will forgive me for them."

"It's part of who you are and there's nothing to forgive. I just hope that one day you'll feel more comfortable with yourself." She squeezed his hands hard. "I wish only the best for you, my love."

He nodded and they stood there in silence for a moment.

"Come," he finally said. "The evening isn't getting any younger and we have much to do!" That said, he started towards the exit, still holding one of her hands and pulling her along with him.

* * *

V stopped in front of the corner shop and indicated the front with a wave of his hand. "What do you think? He asked. "Quite a nice little bookstore, ideally situated on a nice street not far from your place of employment..."

And it hadn't been a very long walk, she reflected. They had taken Bloomsbury to Shaftesbury Avenue and then turned down Charing Cross. A short while later he had steered her right on Newport Street, a very short street which suddenly forked into Lisle and New Port Place. The shop he indicated was situated right in that fork and faced Newport Street. You could easily see Charing Cross from where they stood.

She looked at the shop. It had a large front window with stained glass panels at the top and bottom. The shop's name appeared to be painted on the glass and read, "Westminster Books and Novelties". The building itself was an old brownstone, but seemed to have updated windows and doors. The shop's main entrance faced Newport Street.

"Yes, it is lovely, V..." she finally responded. "but..."

"Come along, we'd best go in; the owner is waiting for us," he urged, guiding her to the door ahead of himself, then opening it for her and indicating that she should enter.

No sooner had he entered the shop behind her then an elderly man with an amazingly thick, white mustache met them. "Well, good evening Mr. Hammond," he greeted V. "Is this the missus then?"

"She is indeed." V turned to her. "Evey, I'd like for you to meet Mr. Kenneth Gorren. This has been his bookstore for over fifty years." Then he turned to the shop's owner. "Mr. Gorren, this is my Evey."

The fellow took her hand. "Pleasure, Ma'am. Why don't you have a look around, eh? Don't mind me while I close up." With that, he headed for the door, which he locked, then he flipped the sign so it read "CLOSED" before heading to the register to secure it.

She turned to her companion. "V, what is going on here?"

"I've entered into negotiation to purchase this place," he announced. "I only await your approval."

"Are you serious?" She gaped at him.

"Very." He tilted his head at her. "Why? Don't you think it a fine way for me to make use of my talents?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," she exclaimed. "It's just that it caught me off guard. You'd make a wonderful bookkeeper; with your knowledge and photographic memory, but..."

He held her away from him so he could look her in the eye. "But?" he prompted.

"I just have a hard time seeing you sitting still long enough to run a business like a bookstore," she replied honestly. "Are you certain it's something you want to do full time?"

He smiled then. "Who said anything about it being full time?" he chuckled. "That's what employees are for, Evey. I need only be the expert they consult for the difficult matters." He set her down and took her hand. "Besides it is merely a step in my plan, not the end all and be all. Still, there is even more to this purchase than you yet imagine, so come along, there's much to see before we discuss this further."

He toured her up and down the isles, commenting on the types of books he would barter in and where he would set each collection. She listened and made polite comments while she took it all in.

She knew that the finder's fees he was paid for the recovery of each of the pieces from the Shadow Gallery was generous, but she hadn't realized they were large enough to enable him to purchase a shop.

And here she had been scraping together every penny so that they would have something to fall back on when they had to leave the Shadow Gallery behind...

Mr. Gorren reappeared just then and gave a set of keys to V. "Here you go. Just close up when you're through and put them through the mail slot, will you?"

He nodded to her and left.

Again she stared at V, her mouth open in surprise.

"What can I say? I showed up here on a day when some of the local boys were harassing him. Let's just say that he trusts me."

"I thought you said that you hadn't helped anyone but me?"

He shrugged. "I didn't count the unavoidable encounters."

She did a double take. "Right..." Then she grasped his arm as he started down an isle, so that he would turn back towards her. "Is this what you want? Are you certain you want to buy this shop?" she asked.

"My dear Evey, I'm not merely buying the shop. I'm buying the building." He seemed to relish watching the dumbfounded looks his words were generating on her face today. With a chuckle, he used a gloved finger to push her chin up, shutting her mouth and then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't look so shocked," he admonished. "Now will you hurry along and see the rest so that you can give me your honest opinion on it?"

With a nod, she followed him to the rear of the shop and then into the little stocking room at the back. There was a heavy door in the wall on the right that he unlocked and ushered her through.

On the other side was small foyer with a window to the rear of the building and a doorway. V opened the door and again indicated that she should enter first. As she stepped through, she found herself in a large, rectangular room without any windows.

"I thought this would make a perfect workout room," he said, as he walked out into the center of the room.

She nodded. "Yes, it's a good size and no windows, so there's plenty of privacy." Looking around she saw that at the far side of the room, in the same wall as the doorway they had entered through, was another doorway.

"Ah, yes," he said, noticing her interest and moving in that direction. That leads to the living area." Again he opened the door then made a gesture for her to precede him. "Shall we?"

Stepping through she saw that she was in another foyer, this one with a U-shaped staircase and a window that opened onto the street out front. The floor and stairs were of beautiful, new-looking hardwood.

"Wow…" was all she could say as she started up the stairs, V drifting along behind her.

At the top, the staircase opened out into a large open area. The flooring was of the same new wood. Directly ahead lay the dining area and on the other side of that, in a surrounded area, a kitchen. To her left lay a large reception area with windows opening out onto the street. If she walked towards them, the fireplace was in the wall to her left, while an area large enough for V's piano lay to her right. The ceilings were nine feet and she could see that the light would be great as the windows pointed, by her calculation, southeast.

She turned to look at V, who had hung back and was watching her with interest. "It's gorgeous!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, not what one would expect to find judging by the downstairs," he observed.

She ran up and threw her arms around him.

"There now," he laughed. You haven't even checked out the rest!"

Backtracking to the stairs, she moved into the hallway that would have been to her left as she entered the flat. It was covered in clean, dense, beige carpet. She was now walking towards the rear of the building.

On the right, just the other side of the kitchen and dining room wall, was the bathroom. She entered and sighed at the sight that met her eyes; a large garden tub, ceramic tile floors and plenty of room. A toilet and pedestal sink completed the picture.

"I thought you might like that tub," V observed from the doorway behind her.

"Yes I do… and can't you just picture me relaxing in a tub full of bubbles with a few candles set around it?"

He looked positively stunned and then recovered enough to give her an appreciative look. "You would grow tired of me finding excuses to continuously loiter in your vicinity."

With another chuckle, she squeezed past him and moved to the end of the hallway.

V indicated the doorway straight ahead. "That's the bedroom. The door on the right would make a nice office or second bedroom."

She checked out the spare room first. It was small, but would serve well in either of the capacities he had mentioned; besides, a child didn't need a huge room… Realizing the direction her thoughts had taken, she blushed and then moved quickly to the other room, hoping he lover hadn't noticed.

The bedroom was a roomy, L-shaped room with a closet to the right of the door. Windows were located on the back wall, and as with the hallway and the smaller room, the floor was covered in beige carpet.

She turned to face V, who was leaning on the doorjamb watching her, and beckoned with a crooked finger for him to come closer. When he did, she hugged him again and rained kisses over his face.

"It's amazing," she sighed. "I love it."

"So I see!" he chuckled.

"If it's what you want, then we're in perfect agreement on it."

"Then it shall be ours," he whispered, squeezing her tightly.

* * *

They entered the Shadow Gallery a short time later and Evey made straight for the kitchen with their take-out food while V stopped to remove his coat and headed for his dressing area.

He had grown quiet and introspective on the walk back and although it was nothing out of the ordinary for him… she still had an unsettling feeling that something was increasingly troubling him.

When he had excused himself and headed towards his dressing area, she hadn't asked, but felt certain that he was taking off the realistic mask and exchanging it for a scarf. Even now, weeks after having finally removed the mask in the light and revealing himself fully to her, he still preferred to cover his face, never going without unless she expressly asking him to. She had meant what she said those weeks ago; that she wanted him to do what he felt comfortable with, yet she had hoped...

One thing that did disturb her was his propensity for sitting before his vanity and staring at the Fawkesian mask reflected before him. Sometimes he would slowly brush the hair of the wig, as though it were his own hair, while contemplating his reflection. He could easily lose himself like that for twenty minutes at a time. Whatever could he be thinking?

Usually she would give him his privacy and stay away, afraid that if she disturbed him, he might simply do such things while she was away or asleep, rather than trusting her to give him space.

But now, when she stepped out of the kitchen, took a peak and saw him at it; again wearing the wig and Fawkes mask rather than the scarf, she decided that she had to finally say something.

She moved slowly, but from an angle where her approaching reflection would be clearly visible to him and stopped behind him. Bending down, she put her face atop his right shoulder and stared into the mirror with him.

"What is it you see, V?" she asked quietly, as she gently wrapped her arms about his shoulders.

He put the brush down and covered her arms with his own, yet never took his gaze from the mirror. "Sometimes, when I stare long enough, I get the feeling that a memory has surfaced that is just out of my reach," he answered. "It's like forgetting a word and having it at the tip of your tongue; there, but somehow hidden from your mind. It's maddening, yet I feel compelled to pursue it."

She nodded and hugged him again. "Will you come away and eat?"

"Yes, love." He began to retrieve a scarf from where it hung over the side of his mirror.

"Would you mind going without, tonight?" she dared to ask. "It would really make the perfect ending to what's been a wonderful day of surprises," she pleaded.

His gaze shifted from his own reflection to hers. "Yes, if you'll lower the lights and put a candle on the table. I've told you that you need only ask me. I meant that, Evey."

She smiled, nodded, kissed his ear through the wig and hurried off to the kitchen.

* * *

Generally, V didn't care for take out food, much preferring to cook something up with his own hands, but they had both agreed that tonight getting it to go would allow them more time together.

Sutler's narrow minded and bigoted version of London had all but eradicated every decent ethnic restaurant in the city, but since his party's collapse a few very good such restaurants had opened.

Their good friend, Michael, had recommended one of those restaurants; a Jamaican one, which was just a few blocks away from the bookstore. He had even recommended the items they should order, which was good, as neither of them had ever had Jamaican cuisine before.

It turned out that Michael had been a major accomplice in helping V locate just the right book shop.

"I still can't believe that Michael knew about your plan before I did," Evey teased, as she savored another bite of her beef patty.

"But, love," he protested. "He was invaluable in directing me to the right neighborhoods and helping me to understand what type of place you might like." He ate another forkful of curried chicken. "And remind me to thank him for the restaurant recommendation. This is... very tasty," he admitted.

Not for the first time, she wished she could eat like him and not gain any weight.

"You did very, very well," she laughed. "Goodness, with the two of you conspiring behind my back, I fear what the next surprise may be," she joked.

"And well you should," he answered in a serious tone, though the twinkle in his eye made her think he might be joking.

She was pleased with the way the meal had gone, having feared that his strange mood would linger or that he would not be comfortable enough without a mask to enjoy the food. Truth be told, he had seemed somewhat staid and uncomfortable, but that had vanished the moment she had pretended to getup for something and then hugged him from behind and soundly kissed his cheek and nibbled the ruin of his left ear.

He had actually chuckled then and raised his shoulder in an attempt to keep her mouth from tormenting him; apparently the sensation both tickled and delighted.

That of course had made her try harder... and in the next moment he had pushed away from the table and pulled her down into his lap, where he cradled her like a baby and returned the ear nibbling two fold. And he had kept it up until she had breathlessly begged him to stop.

As she caught her breath, she reached up to him and pulled him down so that she could kiss him.

"You really do see with other eyes," he had said, wonderingly after he lifted his head.

"Yes, I do," she had replied and pulled him back for another kiss.

After that, he had been much more at ease and with great satisfaction she had noticed the glimmer of the tears he fought back as he placed her back on her feet.

"Evey?"

She jumped as he called her name.

"You were a million miles away just now," he observed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied. "I was just remembering how you kissed me a short while ago."

He seemed puzzled. "Anything you'd like to share?"

"Aside from how much I liked not having to fight a scarf?" She smiled.

He blinked and cleared his throat before going back to his meal, giving her the impression that he was deeply touched.

They spent the rest of the meal nibbling and making plans for their relocation, finally coming around to the subject of her current flat.

V had asked her to keep it temporarily and now she knew why... no sense in her moving all her things to the Shadow Gallery and then turning right around an moving them back out. He had known that there would soon be a new place she could move her things to.

"Here you are taking me to task for conspiring with Dr. Cahill behind your back," he groused, "and yet, he's seen your flat and I have not!" He leaned towards her and fixed her with a stern look. "I'm the one who should be complaining," he chastised her.

She laughed. "All right. You win. How about meeting me after work tomorrow and we can go on over and start packing up?"

"Now there's a good plan," he replied.

* * *

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, Evey was feeling extremely tired, yet just one glance at V, who was pacing the restlessly through the gallery, was enough for her to know that he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon.

It happened that way sometimes, though, lately the frequency had begun to increase. All her attempts at trying to discover what was bothering him had met with failure.

V was still, in many ways, a mystery even unto himself.

She sighed and stood up. No, he wouldn't be sleeping, but maybe she could get him to come to bed for just a while. It always did them both a lot of good.

He had paused in front of his piano and that's where she approached him.

"Are you alright?" she inquired, as she moved into his arms.

He hugged her. "Just a bit manic."

"Anything I can do to help?"

The mask tipped to regard her and she had a feeling that he was wearing a small smile behind it. "Not tonight, but the thought is much appreciated."

"Will you come to bed for just a while?"

He nodded slowly. "Would you like me to play with your hair until you sleep?" When she nodded eagerly, he continued, "Go on and get ready. I'll wait for you."

With a final squeeze, she stepped back and turned towards the bathroom. Then stopped and stared at the piano as though seeing it for the first time. Swinging back around, she looked at him, finding that his mask was tilted in an attitude of expectation.

"V... However did you get the piano in here by yourself?" she asked in amazement.

A heartfelt laugh escaped him. "I've been waiting for you to ask, but, my dear, that is a story for some other time, not for when you're trying to get to sleep."

* * *

After Evey headed off to the washroom, V moved to his dressing area, sat and removed his boots, which he placed neatly, side by side next to the coat stand. Stretching like a cat, he arched his back, fingers laced together and arms over his head.

Truth be told, he was feeling particularly anxious tonight, though he could not fathom exactly why. Everything had gone just as he had hoped it would, so why was he so wound up?

Shucking his silk shirt, he threw it in the laundry hamper, then stood and regarded himself in the full-length mirror.

He had to admit that it was very strange seeing himself in the Fawkes mask and regular street clothes. That morning, after applying his new mask and dressing, he had regarded himself in the same mirror and had a strange sensation of deja vu. A normal face stared back at him, and he had to imagine that it was similar enough to his own lost face that some recognition had been triggered in his subconscious mind. Somehow everything about his image then had seemed… right, even down to the clothes he had chosen.

And that had triggered so many other questions in his mind:

Was he the same person he had been… before Larkhill? No, that could not be. For one thing, he had become a killer, for whatever the reason and he very much doubted that he had been such before…

Was he exhibiting the same patterns of behavior as he had… before? He wondered. By the time people became adults, over seventy percent chose blue as their favorite color, yet his favorite was red. Had it always been so?

Did he care about Evey because she reminded him of someone he had once loved… before? He certainly could not account for the sudden feeling of recognition that had jolted him the night they first met. Nor could he explain the empathy and attraction he had felt for her from that first moment. Or was it that there really was such a thing as love at first sight?

He laughed bitterly; that meant she could never have experienced the same with regards to him!

Right now, looking at himself in the mirror, he wanted to snatch the mask off and just be… himself. That's all he really wanted, to know who he was and to just take comfort in… being.

With a sigh, he pulled the gray shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper, then removed the items from his pockets and placed them on top of his chest of drawers. Unfastening his black jeans, he removed them and his socks and then added them to the laundry.

Now his reflection showed him a man in a Guy Fawkes mask and black silk boxers, whose body was a patchwork of pale skin and red, thickened scar tissue. Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror. How Evey could possibly find THAT attractive, was beyond him.

He quickly donned a fresh black silk shirt and his usual britches and then headed for the bedroom. Once there, he settled himself between the covers, then took the book he was currently reading from the nightstand and opened it.

Five minutes later, Evey entered the room, shivering in the short white robe she wore and made a beeline for him.

As she reached the bed and dropped the robe, he pulled back the covers for her and shifted so that she could curl up in the area he had warmed with his body heat. Tucking the covers back around her, he held her close to his side as she sighed and stopped shivering.

A moment later she relaxed completely and eased down in the bed so that she could lay her head just below his chest and wrap her arms around his torso; one of her favorite positions with him.

He went back to reading his book as he began running the fingers of his free hand through her hair. In truth, he enjoyed this as much as she did. He found that it calmed and focused him, occupied his mind… and he enjoyed lulling her to sleep. It was at least a small repayment for all her many kindnesses to him.

Within fifteen minutes she was asleep, her breath shallow and even.

He watched her fondly for a minute and then carefully eased her off of him, onto the sheets he had warmed, as he slid to the side. Removing his mask, he planted a loving kiss on her forehead and brushed back her hair one last time before putting out the light and quietly leaving the room.

* * *

Chief Inspector Eric Finch ran down the hallway to the office he shared with his partner, Dominic Stone and flung himself through the door.

"Quick, get your things; it's happening!" he yelled, collecting his own coat from the coat rack. Then he was out the door, without even waiting to see if his partner was behind him. He knew he would be.

"When?" Dominic asked, as he drew alongside him in the narrow corridor.

"I got word not five minutes ago." He shot his partner a disgusted look. "Three weeks of hard work and the son of a bitch ignores the bait and takes two kids instead!"

Dominic's face was grim. "You just watch; no matter what we come up with, some bleeding heart friend of his will get him off… He knows too many people in high places, Erik. You'll see I'm right."

Finch didn't answer. He didn't have to. Dominic had no idea just how bad the situation was.

* * *

V had wandered about the Shadow Gallery for a long while, trying to find something to occupy himself. He really wanted to work out, but the noise would wake Evey. Same for watching the telly or a film. That meant that the jukebox wasn't an option, either...

He rounded a corner and spied his hat and cloak on the coat rack in his dressing area. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes shifting towards the end of the gallery where the bedroom was.

Would she be upset?

He immediately dismissed the thought from his mind. He was going out no matter what.

...because he had to.

Either that or go mad.

* * *

"So tell me what you've got," Dominic asked, anxiously as he drove them towards the Mayfair address Finch had given him.

Sometime around twenty-two seventeen hours our boy somehow manages to get out a second floor window at home and into a tree, where he waits until one of our undercover guys walks by...

"I see," Dominic spoke up.

"Yeah. Then not an hour later, we get a frantic phone call from a Wanda Terrance, who happens to be the head housekeeper for none other than William T. Burroughs."

Dominic nearly lost control of the car. "THE William T Burroughs?"

"The very one," he replied grimly. "Do you know where he lives?"

His partner nodded. "No, but you're going to tell me."

"He lives not five blocks from our boy, Scanlan." Hearing the stream of curses that ran from his partner's mouth he continued, "The housekeeper thought she heard something and came out of her quarters to find the nanny unconscious in the kitchen. Looks like she was brained with a golf club."

"And the kids?"

Finch sighed. "You guessed right; they're both missing. A boy, Timothy, age eleven and a girl, Terri, age nine."

"Son of a bitch, Eric... do you believe the balls on this guy? Do you know what this means, him going after his political rival's children?"

Finch swallowed the bile in his throat. Of course he knew, had known since getting the call, but he said it aloud anyway.

"Yeah, it means he feels he has nothing to lose. He'll rape, torture and kill them along with anyone who crosses his path."

"And even if we find him..."

Finch swallowed. "He'll kill them before we even have a chance."

* * *

Evey awoke in the darkened bedroom and immediately realized that she wasn't alone. Sometime during the night, V had joined her and was now sleeping quite soundly, taking up more than his fair share of the bed... and sprawled half atop her to boot.

A smile lit her face as she took in the clean smell of soap with just a lingering hint of leather. He must have showered before dropping into bed and judging by still-strong soap smell, she guessed that he hadn't been in bed for very long before she awoke.

She was on her back, he on his stomach, with an arm and a leg thrown protectively over her. His chin leaned against her left shoulder and he was snoring very softly. Somehow he was dead center of the bed while she had been nudged to the edge. Rather than upsetting her, she always found his possessive sleep habits endearing.

And she was glad that he had not only been able to sleep, but that he was sleeping better than he had in weeks.

A glance at the alarm showed the time as four o'clock. That meant she had another three hours of quality sheet time. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and was almost immediately asleep.

* * *

Chief Inspector Eric Finch stood next to his partner, Detective Dominic Stone, as they both tried to make sense of the situation.

They hadn't even made it to Mayfair before he received a cell phone call informing him that the children had been recovered none the worse for the situation.

"Come again?" he had asked, thinking that he had to have misheard.

The voice on the line, another detective under his command, had provided more details, including the information that the suspect was dead and that he and the kids had been recovered at the Old Tottenham Court tube station.

And that was where he and Dominic now stood; at the tube entranceway. The children had already been hustled off to Scotland Yard to be reunited with their parents and the forensics team was working the crime scene.

What was the most puzzling of many things in the unexpected happy ending, was the criminologist's preliminary findings that Scanlan had been killed elsewhere and he and the children transported to this location, and that he had been killed with a large knife.

Which was in keeping with the boy's assertion that their rescuer had been none other than the vigilante known only as V.

"It can't be him, can it inspector," Dominic asked. "You said that you saw him dead."

He shrugged. "I saw a body on that train and the train was blown apart. That does not necessarily mean that it was him, or that he was dead when the train left."

"But Miss Hammond wouldn't lie to you about it, would she?" Dominic looked scandalized by the notion, despite the thousands of people who lied to him yearly.

Finch knew that he had a serious crush on Evey, not that he could blame the man; he was half besotted with her himself.

"Dominic, given a strong enough motive, even a saint would be hard-pressed not to lie. What if Miss Hammond felt that she was doing the right thing in misleading me? She never actually said he was dead."

"So you think she was protecting him?"

He spat on the ground. "Dom, we don't even know that it was him. It could have been almost anyone at this point. Lets get back and see what the children can tell us and then go from there."

* * *

Evey was awakened not by her alarm clock, but by her lover.

He was nibbling her ear lobe and whispering, "Awake, awake.. breakfast awaits."

Sleepily, she pushed him away and then protested half-heartedly when he threw back the covers and scooped her bodily out of bed.

Throwing her arms around his neck to stabilize herself, she blinked her eyes and finally focused blurredly on her surroundings.

V was fully dressed, even to wearing his Guy Fawkes mask and he was carrying her through the gallery towards the bathroom.

"What time is it?" she yawned.

"Six O'Clock."

"What? You know I don't need to be up until seven!"

He chuckled. "But I missed your company and I did so want to have breakfast with you before I must away." Having reached the bathroom, he set her on her feet outside the door.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, puzzled.

"Oh I've errands to run, a building to purchase and the like," he replied with some amusement.

"Oh, right."

"Well then, off you go." He smacked her fanny, causing her to squeal and run into the small room.

Closing the door behind her, she heard him sigh and then wander towards the kitchen, humming all the way.

She smiled, his good mood becoming infectious, and hurried to clean up.

* * *

Her good mood vanished at precisely eight forty five in the morning, on the street just outside the steps to the British Museum.

She had been rushing past a series of newspaper vending machines, when something on the front page caught her eye; a large letter V.

Stopping, she had read the headline with a growing anxiety:

'V for vigilante? Guy Fawkes masked vigilante saves Councilman Burroughs' children, kills captor.'

"Oh God..." she breathed, suddenly feeling ill.

Feeding the machine several coins, she snatched a paper out and started reading in earnest. When she reached the part where the little boy swore that he recognized the man's voice and his daggers, she started shaking. After she read that the child stated that their rescuer had moved as fast as Superman, she folded the paper and dropped down on one of the museum steps in a daze.

Now she knew why Detective Finch had left a cryptic voice mail message for her to phone him... Should she?

She flashed back to the night before; V in a manic mood, but later sleeping soundly... his good mood at breakfast...

"Oh God," she repeated to herself. "It was him."

The big questions now were, 'How had he gotten mixed up in this?' and 'Why?'

It was a long time before her legs were strong enough to allow her to stand and enter her place of work. By then she was fifteen minutes late and was soundly reprimanded for it.

* * *

Next time: **Chapter 2: Upheaval**


	2. Upheaval

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes: **This story is** rated R,** for some adult content. **The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage.** As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

**Chapter 2:Upheaval**

**

* * *

**

V finally finished up at the bank just before twelve and was walking towards Piccadilly Circus, when he passed a news shop and the front page leaped out at him.

He was stunned and stopped in his tracks so suddenly that the lady walking behind him barreled into him.

"Oh, hey there!" she protested.

"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized. "Are you hurt?"

Upon seeing his face, she smiled. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks," she replied.

With a nod, he entered the shop, noting that only then did she move off.

Looking around he was amazed at how many different local papers had run mention of him on the front page. And worse yet, the overhead television was covering the incident as well.

"Oh bloody hell," he exclaimed under his breath as some of the information about the man he had killed was revealed.

He just hadn't counted on this, not yet anyway.

Last night he had gone out in the hopes that he would run across a few thugs, thieves or assorted other miscreants and to that end he had brought along his new knife belt and knives. He had been, as they said, cruising for a fight, hoping to do some good and feel like he had accomplished something. It would have been the perfect way to burn off the excess energy that had been driving him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he would stumble into a kidnapping, attempted rape and murder or that the criminal would be a political candidate!

Most of the time, when moving around London as his alter ego, he used the abandoned tube system as his highway. Though Sutler's government had blocked the tracks, the garbage they had filled it with was meant to stop the trains, not a man on foot, and so it allowed him to cover large distances without ever being seen.

As he'd walked he'd thought about his purpose and his responsibility to the new London he had helped to birth. Was it right to bring forth life and then abandon it?

Perhaps he should make a more direct contribution, yet in order to do so, he would need inside help. That had been part of his plan; to slowly make himself known to Eric Finch, to have the man find him, for if he did, it meant that he was interested and probably would work with him. If not... then he would have to find a better way. He planned on leaving Evey out of that part of it unless Finch brought her in. He didn't want her to feel responsible for his actions and if Finch weren't interested, well then she would be none the wiser.

He'd emerged at the Green Park tube station and after checking that all was clear, moved through the shadows, intent upon heading down the street towards Piccadilly Circus.

Almost every surveillance camera from Sutler's regime had been destroyed by the populous or removed by popular demand, so there was no one watching the tube entrances. And why would they? The place was locked down and abandoned. That's what made it a perfect thoroughfare for V. He had made his own master key and, in addition, changed all the locks to those stations and the entrance ways that surrounded his beloved Shadow Gallery

It was just after he had crossed the street, that a small car had driven up onto the sidewalk and into Green Park to stop behind the very row of bushes that he was using for cover. The bushes were tall and screened the park from the street beyond.

He'd melted deeper into the shadows and watched as a middle-aged man with a beer gut had emerged, looked about before moving to the rear of the vehicle and opening the boot.

It was with a great deal of surprise that he'd seen the man pull out a child, a boy from the looks of it. He was wearing pajamas and was blindfolded, gagged and hogtied.

An intense anger was lit within him at the sight and the knowledge of what the man's motives most likely were. The hatred that inflamed him was startling, for he was usually calm and collected no matter how much he might despise his foe.

He'd begun to work his way forward towards the car when he caught a glimpse of a second child struggling in the trunk. That had complicated matters somewhat. He needed to take out the villain while protected both children from the gruesomeness of his actions and NOT drawing attention from any wandering policemen...

So he had waited and watched as the man threw the boy over his shoulder, closed the boot and carefully moved across the deserted street towards the tube station.

Edging as close to the street as he dared, he'd watched the man disappear down the stairs to the tube and was alarmed to hear a faint click and the sound of the heavy gate that barred the entrance being opened.

This man had a key! Was he in government?

With a curse, he'd decided his course of action and followed the man down, keeping to the shadows and moving as silently and swiftly as only he could.

The man had dropped the boy at the far end of the train platform and roughly snatched off his blindfold.

From his new position on the tracks and moving swiftly towards his prey, he had seen that the child was plainly terrified; though the gag muffled his cries, his eyes were huge with fear.

"Well now, looks like you've seen my face," the man had sneered. "Recognize me, don't you? Well do you know what? Your dear old dad has killed me politically, so in return I'm gong to kill you and your sister. What do you think about that, huh?"

The boy had begun to writhe, clearly fighting his bonds and sobbing.

"One more thing, boy-o..." the man had said, then kicked the boy in the stomach. "Before you die, you're going to suffer and so is your sister, especially your sister..."

Gagging and trying to catch his breath, the boy's eyes had widened as he caught sight of his savior, for V had leaped up onto the platform directly behind the man.

Knowing that he must have appeared to the boy as little more than a fast moving blur of black, he'd spun the man to his other side and landed a tremendous kick to his midsection. A frighteningly loud thud had echoed throughout the station and in the next instant the man who had been attacking the boy had simply vanished.

* * *

"OK, tell me again what you saw?" Chief Inspector Finch asked the boy.

"There was a loud thud and then that bad man was gone," Timothy Burroughs tried to explain. "Suddenly a different man was standing there!"

"Describe it to me."

Timothy remembered it as though it had just happened; a tremendous thud had echoed through the station and in the next instant the man who had been attacking him had simply vanished. In his place stood a tall man in a Guy Fawkes mask. Complete with wig, hat and cloak he looked exactly like the man who had appeared on television the year before.

"Show me a villain that hath done a rape, and I am sent to be revenged on him," the masked man had recited as he looked toward the tracks below. He threw back his cloak, revealing six large daggers in a belt about his waist.

The mask had then looked down at him. "You're safe now, you and your sister both. Look away, for your attacker is about to meet his end. He will never again come after you, do you understand?"

Timothy had nodded, turned his head and squeezed his eyes shut as the man he recognized as the true V jumped off the platform.

"It was his voice!" he again told the inspector. "It was him! He moved really fast, too: just like Superman. He was a blur!"

"I believe you," Finch replied. "I know this is very difficult, but tell me what happened next."

* * *

Jumping off the platform, he'd approached the groaning man on the tracks below, then waited, giving the man a chance to defend himself.

As usual, he hadn't been disappointed when the fellow struggled to his feet, a knife in one hand, the other cradling his belly. Only then had he gotten a good look at V.

"Naw, you aren't him," he'd said, trying to convince himself it was true.

V had pulled one of his own daggers and twirled it with a flourish, which could not have left any doubt in the man's mind as to who it was he faced.

"If you say so," he had responded. "Now come and face a full grown adult and let us see how you fare." As the man tried to back away, he had advanced and added, "Come now, are you planning on running? Your only hope of surviving this encounter is in fighting me, for I plan on ending your pedophilic ways forever."

And the man had lunged, planning on slashing him and then running, but he had been ready, his natural abilities had kicked in so that the man seemed to move in slow motion.

In seconds it had been over, the man disarmed and caught in his strong embrace. He had pinned him with his back to his own chest, an arm locked about the man's neck, his other still holding his dagger and twisting the deviant's other arm up behind him.

Before the fellow had even comprehended what had occurred, V had leaned his mask in close to his ear and hissed, "A very special hell awaits you, I'm quite certain."

And the villain had screamed, even before V bent him and delivered a dagger thrust to his ample posterior. When he had, the scream had abruptly stopped, the force of the blow and the shock of it driving all breath from the rapist. And when he had finally managed to draw in a huge gulp of air, V removed the protruding dagger, whirled him about and sliced his throat with a second dagger drawn instantly from his belt.

His foe had fallen without anything more than a gurgle.

Turning, he had quickly returned to the boy, who thankfully had taken his advice to heart and remained facing away from the tracks. With a few quick slashes, he'd cut the boy's bonds, noting that one of his blades had been fouled. Breathing an oath of disgust, he'd flung it full force at an upward angle causing it to imbed in the dark overhead area where the law would no doubt miss it. He'd certainly no longer wanted it.

In fact, he'd felt ill at having lost his temper, at having actually tortured the man before finishing him.

"What's your name," he had asked, helping to remove the gag from the boy's mouth.

"Timothy," came the answer. "Is he really dead?"

"Yes. And now let's go rescue your sister." Offering the boy a helping hand, he'd asked, "Are you injured?"

"No. My legs are sore is all."

* * *

"What did he do then, Timmy?" Finch asked.

"He took me back up to the car, then we got Terri out of the boot." The boy fidgeted. "Can I go home now?"

Eric smiled. "Soon, son. I want you to know what a good job you're doing with this. Your help will make things much easier for me and the rest of the police."

"V really helped you, didn't he? He saved me and my sister and took care of that awful man!"

"Yes, he did," Finch reassured him. "Now I need for you to be really smart like he is and tell me the rest of what happened."

"He untied Terri and hugged her until she stopped crying," Timothy continued. "She was really scared! I told her that he was a good man and that the he had killed the bad man and she stopped crying after that."

"Then V had us sit in the front of the car and he looked around and told us to be brave and to duck down in the front until he got back."

"It was really scary waiting for him, but then I peeked over the door and saw him coming with the bad man on his shoulder. He put him in the boot and then drove us to a different place."

"Then what?" Finch prompted.

"He took the man away down a different tube station, then he came back and told us to stay in the car, that he would call the police to come take us home, but that he would be watching us to keep us safe the whole time."

"Just a few more questions and then we're done, all right?"

"OK."

"Do you know which tube station the bad man took you to? The place where V saved you?" Finch asked.

"No, but it was across from a big park."

"Did you recognize any of the buildings nearby?"

Timothy shook his head no.

"When V said he would watch you until we arrived, did you see where he was watching from?"

"No."

"Thank-you, Tommy, you've been a very big help to us," Finch praised him and held out a hand to shake his.

"My pleasure, Inspector," the boy replied solemnly, taking his hand. "I'm just glad we were saved!"

* * *

Back in the here and now, V bought a newspaper, then moved back out to the street. People in the shop had been talking about the incident. Who would have thought that the scum he had dispatched was political? Then again…

He sighed. What was the old adage; no good deed goes unpunished?

Ah well. He had gone out last night in an effort to do some good, and he had. The fact that all of London was gossiping about his continued existence could be seen as a sign that they approved of his reemergence and vigilantism.

Everything was falling into place, though much faster than he had wanted. Even now his stomach twisted into a knot at the knowledge that Evey had to know.

He hoped that she didn't see this as betrayal of trust; a failure to confide in her.

It had been part of his plan to discuss it with her; just not over breakfast... it just wouldn't have been appropriate. Still, he had thought he would have at least until this evening to sit down with her and talk about his desire to get back on the streets and set some things right.

How best to smooth things over with her? By now she must be frantic, so waiting until she left work would not be an option. Perhaps he might meet her at lunch? Or did that have the potential for upsetting her the rest of the day? Would it help matters or harm them? He had been looking forward to some nice quality time at her old flat this evening... was there a way to salvage the situation, keep her trust and her interest?

Perhaps a phone call would work best.

* * *

Evey had felt ill and distracted the entire morning, the same questions constantly running through her mind: When had he obtained new knives? Why had he gone out with them while she slept? Had he accidentally run into a situation or had he gone looking for one? Why hadn't he mentioned all this to her this morning?

Did it all tie in with his increasingly erratic behavior; mood swings, mania, staring at his reflection... Or did it come down to the simple fact that he had lived?

And finally, how was she to handle this? Should she confront him or wait for him to bring it up?

By now he had to know that she knew.

She was a bundle of nerves and didn't know if she could make it until quitting time. Martha had asked her several times if she were alright and had prompted her to go home if she were ill, despite her assurances that she wasn't. And she couldn't really explain what was really eating her up inside, now could she? How can you bring up the topic of your lover being the infamous "V"?

"Twelve O'clock," Martha chirped. "Come on, Evey, I'll buy you a good meal and then you'll feel better. You don't even have to talk about it if you don't want to."

She gave her friend a grateful look and patted her hand. "You're a good friend, Martha," she said. "But I think I'd rather just spend the time alone, if you don't mind."

"Are you going to be alright?"

Again she forced a smile. "I'll be fine. Really, just give me a day or two."

With a sympathetic nod, Martha patted Evey's hand and then collected her coat before heading out.

After she'd gone, Evey looked around at the empty cataloging room and tried to decide what to do with her lunch hour.

Perhaps if she took a nice walk around the block she would feel a bit better?

The phone rang, startling her. Very rarely did anyone ever call back here and most of the time it was her supervisor.

Moving across the room, she picked it up, "Catalog room."

And there was V's voice on the other end, instantly soothing her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Not really. V… what in the world?" she asked, all the pent up worry evident in her voice.

"I would rather have had the chance to explain face to face," he replied. "But given the circumstances I just couldn't leave you hanging all day..."

"I'm so glad you called. I was going mad trying to understand what was going on with you."

"I just happened upon the crime, love... although I do admit to have been looking for a wrong to right. And I had meant to tell you about it later."

"But why, V? And why did you feel the need to sneak out while I slept?"

There was a long pause. "It's difficult to explain," he sighed. "I feel like a ghost, Evey. I have no real purpose and I don't even know who I'm supposed to be. Thinking of myself as nothing more than a symbol was easy. I was merely a living incarnation of justice... but now that I am not that symbol anymore, what am I? A man? No, I'm nothing more than a mystery... a blank page, a shade."

"V... you are a man, you know that!" she protested.

"Evey, you anchor me and keep me from blowing away, but I need a purpose. If I cannot find myself, then I must have a reason to exist and I believe that reason may be to use my abilities to nurture this frail new world we have made. I've found it's no great chore for me to prowl about, protecting the innocent and dispatching the guilty. It's a small way in which I can protect the interests of the people while this new government struggles to be born."

"I understand your reasoning," she soothed. "But you're not an executioner. Can't you find a way to leave the criminals to the justice system?"

"We'll talk about it later and maybe then you'll agree that justice will only be served when criminals are caught in the act and immediately... dealt with."

"Well, we'll talk about it at least," she answered.

He sighed. "I had so hoped to have a pleasant, relaxing Friday evening with you. I'm sorry to have ruined it."

"There's nothing to apologize for," she replied. "You saved the lives of two children; saved them from unimaginable horror. And as for this evening... I'm going to try not to let all get in the way of some good quality time spent with you."

He let his breath out as he relaxed. "I do so love you."

"Is that so?" she teased.

"Evey, I plan on removing all doubt from your mind later tonight." It was little more than a deep purr.

Her body instantly reacted. "Uh... We better wrap this up or I won't be worth anything until then," she husked.

"Then I bid you adieu until our date," he answered in the same velvet tone. "I'll meet you in the Great Court at five."

I can't wait." She hung up quickly. No man should have a voice like that, she thought, completely overcome with longing for him.

* * *

Chief Inspector Eric Finch of Scotland Yard arrived at work at two in the afternoon. The office he shared with his partner, Dominic Stone, was empty. Usually Dom managed to get there before he did, but his partner had stayed until late this morning investigating yesterday's case, so he wouldn't be back until at least three.

Eric found that he was relishing the chance to check into some things without his partner looking over his shoulder. First things first: He checked his messages but there weren't any replies from Evey. Her lack of a response set off what he liked to refer to as his "moment of truth" meter; he was virtually certain now that she had known all along that codename V was alive, which meant that she had been protecting him.

He sighed heavily, somewhat depressed that she had misled him for so long when he had begun to feel a very real connection to her. Of course he was old enough to be her da, but he had actually let his guard down with her and felt he could trust her, which made this particular moment of truth a bitter one.

He wondered about her motive for keeping this from him. Was there some distrust due to his profession? It wouldn't be the first time his job had damaged a relationship.

It was the reason that he was divorced. Miriam just hadn't been able to deal with his ever-switching hours, the days away from home while investigating important cases and his constant assertion that it wasn't yet time for them to start a family. One day he had arrive home to find her and most of the furnishings gone. She'd left a note on his desk amid his paperwork which read, "Once you're done with all your paperwork, perhaps you'll get around to reading this, but by the time you get done with your career, I will be only a memory."

Shaking his head, he went back to thinking about Evey Hammond's motives.

Even though she had been covering up for codename V, he would forgive her. He was certain that he could understand her reasons. Besides, he wasn't after the man regardless of what the papers might imply.

Truth was that V had saved those kids and solved a very serious problem for law enforcement; that being the removal of a very dangerous, very evil and very privileged man, one who could possibly have risen to power in the new government despite his crimes. Not to mention that he would have gotten away with raping and murdering two children.

He shuddered to think what today would be like if V had not intervened the night before.

Trying for the moment to put it out of mind, he pulled up the transcripts from the questioning of the children and began to reread them. When he was done he would try calling Evey again. If need be he'd stop by the Museum and she knew that, so he had little doubt that his call would go unanswered this time.

Just then his phone rang. He answered it, "Chief Inspector Finch."

It turned out to be the crime unit's chief criminologist with more information.

It seemed that they now believed that the suspect was killed down in the tube system, although not where he was found. Certain graphite and diesel residues found on him pretty much nailed it as certain.

Another interesting thing: the deceased had died from a knife wound to the neck, but beforehand he had been stabbed up the bum. 'Ooouch!' Finch thought, 'that had to have hurt!' Sounded like their vigilante had taken a pound of flesh from the man in exchange for his evil intentions, the punishment fitting the intended crime.

Not only that, but his wounds matched up with one of the daggers which had been recovered from Victoria station the night of Creedy's demise, confirming that it was indeed codename V, and no impostor who had meted out that judgment.

He glanced at his watch. It was only just two thirty in the afternoon. He picked up the phone and dialed Evey.

* * *

Evey's cell phone rang while she was out at the displays, arranging a new piece behind the thick glass. Her stomach twisted when she saw it was Eric phoning.

There was no use in putting this off, besides she had been thinking about it all day and it would be a relief to get it over with.

"Hello, Eric," she greeted him.

"Evey. I suppose you know why I'm phoning?"

"I've got a good idea, yeah," she admitted.

"Come on, love, don't make me play the inspector with you," he chided. "Why don't you just tell me? If you prefer, I'll come on down there now and get you out of work for a bit. We can go for tea."

"I'd like that, but I was late this morning, so I'd better not risk it," she explained. "Eric, I just don't know where to begin. I never wanted to mislead you, it just seemed prudent to let you go on thinking V was dead. Why don't you ask me what you want to know?"

There was a brief pause on the line. Eric did that quite often, never saying anything or giving anything away without first thinking it through.

"Alright. Tell me what happened exactly that led to the original deception."

She told him, explaining how she and her friend had somehow saved V, despite his apparent certainty that he would die fulfilling his purpose and how she had dressed one of his mannequins in effigy of him and sent it off to witness Parliament's end.

"And why did you go to such lengths to save this man, love?" he asked softly, sympathy evident in his voice. "Why, when he shanghaied you, kept you prisoner and used you to kill the Bishop?"

"You already know why, Eric," she sighed. "I did it because I love him and because he deserves better than to spend twenty years in solitary only to die after setting all the rest of us free."

"I see…"

"Can you forgive me?" she asked.

"You did it to save someone you love. How can I hold that against you?" he said. "There's nothing to forgive. It's water under the bridge."

"Thank-you, Eric. You're a good friend."

"Don't thank me just yet," he warned. "I'd like a chance to talk to him."

Evey nearly dropped the phone.

"I'll ask him," she finally answered. "Any particular time you'd like to see him?"

"Tomorrow would be best. He can pick the time."

"Alright. I'll call you," she promised. "I have to go now, my boss is shooting me dirty looks because I'm talking to you while standing in a display."

He laughed. "Later then."

She put her phone away, smiled at her supervisor and went back to work. She'd call V in just a few minutes, from the ladies' room.

* * *

Chief inspector Eric Finch used the government issued key to unlock the gates to Victoria station and then slowly descended the stairs into the main area. A second set of stairs, much grander than the ones that led from street level, would bring him down to the tracks. He reached into his pocket and removed the high intensity torch he would need for the second descent. The electricity to the station was cut off and it was black as pitch.

The place gave him the creeps, especially in light of what he had found here last time he had investigated it...

Adam Sutler with his brains blown over a large patch of the floor, Creedy lying with his head on nearly backwards and nine fingermen, all butchered. There hadn't seemed to be an inch of the filthy floor that wasn't covered in blood.

And amid the offal, he had found the discarded knife belt and two of the knives of codename V. The other four knives had been recovered from four of the bodies. Some of the blood, a great deal of it actually, had also belonged to V as they had later found when they were unable to match it to any of the victims. They had suspected as much after just one look at his discarded Kevlar vest and armor chest plate.

…And then there was the blood trail he had followed back to Evey Hammond and the train full of explosives...

Now he stood in the same dark, dank and disturbing place and found he didn't have to try hard to see those horrors again in his mind. He still had nightmares many nights about it.

Blood.

V bleeding out all over the station and the tunnels...

Evey had told him all that he really needed to know. V was indeed alive. At least she was now being honest with him.

The question now was; why did he feel so strongly about warning a man who he was obligated by his oath to arrest on sight? He supposed that it was due to an inner sense of justice that not even Sutler's party had been able to extinguish. He wouldn't bring V in because he really couldn't think of a single good reason to do so. Yes, he had killed many people, yet each one of them had killed hundreds or even thousands of people in turn. The rest had threatened V's life first, which made it self-defense.

He was sworn to uphold the law, but he felt he was also obligated to "Protect and Serve" just as the motto of the American police reminded. In sparing V, he believed that he was helping to protect the public, that he was serving their best interests.

Plus, he had to admit to a certain infatuation with the man; sent to a hellhole, tortured, turned into an experiment, burned... Yet, despite all that, he had freed himself and somehow survived, biding his time for twenty plus years until he could confront both the government and the individuals who had stolen his life away, so many peoples' lives away.

If that wasn't a testament to the strength of willpower and the spirit of an individual being able to raise them up above adversity, he didn't know what was.

"Looking for me, inspector?"

Finch jumped and dropped the torch, then cursed himself.

"I mean you no harm," came the cultured voice again. "Please feel free to pick it up."

The place was so dark that he couldn't see the man, despite that the voice seemed to be very close to him. It was like something out of one of his nightmares, so it was little wonder that he did just as he was bid; he scooped up the torch as quickly as he could.

Stepping back a pace, he shown the light in front of him and saw... a bone white mask seemingly floating in the air.

V stepped forward, fully revealing himself and then gestured around them. "Not the nicest of places for a first meeting," he observed. "But I am honored to make your acquaintance none-the-less."

Finch finally found his voice. "You don't seem surprised to see me here," he answered.

"I can't say that I am. You see, it's where I would have looked had I been in your shoes." He moved closer, so that Finch could see him better.

"Well, I have to say that I still feel the uncontrollable desire to kick the shit out of you for that whole Rookwood fiasco," he admitted. "But from everything I know about you, I'd have to be a foolish man to even try."

"Indeed." The mask nodded. "But perhaps I can make it up to you. What is it you want of me?"

Eric suppressed a grimace as he had been wondering that very thing himself. "Actually, I wanted to warn you," he answered after a long pause. "You've really stepped in it this time. I know you've seen the news and know a little about the man you killed."

"Yes, and regardless of what I've heard and read about him, the fact remains that he

was nothing more than excrement."

"Oh, I agree with you there and don't think I'm not glad at how things turned out, but…" He paused, then took a step towards V and lowered his voice. "He was only a small fish in what is shaping up to be a huge conspiracy."

V took several steps forward so that the two of them were now face-to-face. His mask tipped to the left. "How huge?"

"My partner and I have been very carefully, very surreptitiously working towards figuring that out," he answered. "What if I told you that we believe that those behind this were also in control of Sutler's regime? What if I told you that we think this organization is in fact a group of 'puppet masters' who, unfazed and mostly unaffected by the overthrow, are merely biding their time and carefully infiltrating those key positions involved with restoring our government?"

"If what you believe is true, then we are, as they say, screwed," V said, far too calmly. "Our only hope is in discovering their identities and removing them."

"Yes, well, that's something we continue to work on," he admitted. "Finding the proof we need in order to expose them will be difficult."

"My dear fellow," V protested. "You don't need to expose them right off the start, nor would that be feasible. All you need do is to identify them."

"And then what?" he asked, puzzled.

"Then I shall cruelly cut their strings, entangling them in their own machinations. In the end these so-called puppet masters will be nothing more than broken toys for you to put out with the rest of the rubbish," he vowed.

He stared at the man incredulously. "And how are you planning to do that? Creedy and his fingermen were nothing compared to these blokes."

V clasped his gloved hands before him and planted his feet squarely, instantly reminding Finch of the man's martial arts abilities. He was perfectly at ease, yet perfectly balanced to move in any direction.

"You worry about identifying them and leave that to me," he finally replied. By the way, are the children coping well?"

He nodded. "The boy has a serious case of hero-worship, but otherwise they're both doing quite well."

V nodded

Finch cleared his throat. "I've one more question to ask you with regards to the situation you've gotten yourself involved in."

"The puppet masters? By all means, ask away."

"What about Evey? How will you protect her?"

The mask shifted quickly as though the man wearing it had performed a double take. "You believe her to be in danger?" he asked, incredulously.

It was his turn to give the man a disappointed look. "She's with you, isn't she? And you just involved yourself in P.M., puppet-master business. What makes you think they won't go after her?"

"You think that what you know, they know... which means that you think that they have infiltrated Scotland Yard, is that right?" V asked, his voice suddenly very tight.

"I've taken great care in contacting her and in researching you," he answered. "But that doesn't mean that they haven't somehow eavesdropped." He sighed. "Before you even rescued those children, I was working with Evey to redistribute the items in the Shadow Gallery. That alone may have gotten their interest. They may already have investigated her. They may already be watching her, in which case they know about your presence and are no doubt close to discovering who you are, if they don't already know."

"Well... if they discover that, perhaps they'll be kind enough to share their knowledge with me."

"This is no joke," he scolded. "I'm not exaggerating the facts. If they've connected the dots and figured that her companion disappears at the same time you appear, it'll be enough for them to act on it!"

V turned away from him. "I wasn't being flippant, Inspector. I often use humor to mask a difficulty. I assure you that I'm taking your belief of her danger to heart. Unfortunately Evey and I are in the midst of a move, which will make things even more dangerous. Our new home is far more exposed and not as easily guarded as the gallery."

Finch calmed instantly. "What will you do then?"

"I'm not certain. I'll have to think on this for a day or two," he replied over his shoulder.

"I do have one suggestion," he said, hesitantly. "You're both welcome to stay with me for a bit. I've a large two bedroom flat. At least that way there would always be one of us there to keep an eye on her."

"Ah, but my good Inspector, you are assuming that she will stay in the flat, hiding," V rebuffed him. "My Evey is no little bird to be caged, not anymore. She'll continue to go to work and neither of us can very well guard her there. Still, I will bring it up and see if perhaps she will humor us."

"I suppose no one can ask more than that."

Turning back around, V offered his hand. "Good day Inspector."

Finch shook it and found the man had a grip like a steel vise.

"Be careful," he replied.

"I always am."

With that the man literally vanished into the darkness.

After several long moments, he left as well.

* * *

V moved down the tracks back towards the Shadow Gallery at top speed, arriving there five minutes later. Removing the Fawkes mask to reveal that he still wore the realistic visage beneath, he quickly undressed, covered his head with one of Evey's shower caps and jumped in the shower.

He was anxious to make himself presentable for his lover.

As the refreshing spray washed over him, he scrubbed and reflected on the stresses of the day, intentionally trying to put Finch's disturbing news out of mind for a short while.

He had spent the better part of the morning at the bank arranging his accounts and setting a date for the signing over of the bookshop and flat. Having finally finished his business, he had been looking forward to a nice walk and some lunch when he had seen the first newspaper.

It had been unexpected to have made the front-page news. He found it both disturbing and gratifying to know that the general population so hoped that he had survived, that he was still "watching out" for them. So he supposed that his decision to do just that had been the right one. There are no real coincidences: he had set his course and already been assured that it was the right one.

Ever since surviving his injuries at the hands of Creedy and his fingermen, he had planned on eventually contacting the Chief Inspector with the idea of lending his resources to solving supposedly unsolvable crimes. Again, he hadn't planned on meeting him this soon, on having his plans stepped up.

He had decided to try and surprise Finch by meeting him today, rather than at some pre-planned time and place. After all, it made sense not to hand himself over on a silver platter. Still, he had to congratulate himself on having correctly guessed that the inspector would show up at Victoria station. Yet, he never would have thought that the man might want to meet him in order to warn him of a new and very serious danger, therefore it was indeed fortunate that his meeting with the man had been pushed forward.

Again, fate had stepped in and decided things for him.

His thoughts turned to Evey…

He sighed and turned the water off, then sluiced the excess off his body with his hands before removing the shower cap.

Evey had been more than patient with him on the phone earlier and he hoped that when they talked again that everything would work out. If there was one thing he didn't think he could stand, it was disappointing her. Oh he was open to arguing his point and they both had done that with regard to several different topics at this point, but to actually disappoint her with one of his decisions… That would prove difficult for him to take.

He worried about her reaction to his meeting with the inspector, for he planned, at least for a time, to keep Finch's warning from her. Would she pick up on the fact that he was withholding yet something else form her? As it was, she probably wouldn't be happy to know that he had let Finch in on the fact that she was not just his willing accomplice, but his lover as well.

As for her letting either man protect her; she would not take kindly to any suggestion that she remain out of sight and under guard. He'd not yet decided the best course of action there and it could certainly keep until tomorrow morning. He so wanted a nice, uncomplicated evening with her. The last week had been hectic for both of them and they badly needed some down time together. Speaking of time together, could he perhaps lure her away with the suggestion of a vacation? It was an intriguing possibility that he would look into. After all, he had always wanted to see Morocco…

Reaching for a towel, he finished drying off, carefully patting the mask so it would not tear. Then he finished his toiletries and moved off to his dressing area.

What to wear tonight?

After a few minutes thought, he chose another pair of black jeans, this time with one of his black silk poet shirts. Just for fun, he added a pair of brilliant red socks, to match the scarf he would be wearing and a pair of new black leather shoes.

In another moment he had his coat and scarf on and was headed for the door, stopping only long enough to grab a large shopping bag out of the fridge.

As he began the long walk to the Museum, his thoughts continued to dwell upon Evey and his chances of building a life with her.

He was, despite all that had befallen him, not a pessimist, nor was he the overoptimistic fool. He instead considered himself to be a realist with optimistic tendencies. Any goal had a good chance of being achieved with enough hard work and commitment. But one also had to foresee pitfalls along the way, be ready for them rather than pretend they couldn't happen, and somehow sidestep them.

And that was what he saw in the future between himself and Evey; pitfalls, some of which might be small and easily navigable and others which could swallow one or both of them whole if they weren't careful.

Pitfalls.

What could he live without?

He was already coming off twenty years of living without everything that made a life worthwhile. But now, living without Evey… was something that he could not do, not when he had finally had a taste of what had been missing for so many years. And he somehow knew that his need of her went beyond filling the void left when his sole purpose had been fulfilled; she was more than just his sole comfort in this world. She was a part of him and since there was so little of him to begin with, he could not go on living if that part of him was severed.

He had spent twenty years alone, unloved and unnoticed, with nobody to care if he lived or died. Finally having someone who loved him, who wanted him, who was his equal and counterpart… it was like living your life in black and white for year after dreary year and then suddenly having it blossom in full color and digital clarity.

And, God help him, the sex was merely icing on the cake. Even now, after knowing what he had been missing, he would go without if only she would stay with him and love him. To be so fortunate as to also have her as his lover was a mind shattering, soul shaking experience. And this, after he had convinced himself so many years ago that he would never, could never be blessed with such a joy.

Aside from her, he needed only one thing; a purpose and he finally thought that he had that well in hand.

What then of Evey? What could she live without?

Here lay the potential pitfalls!

He had spent a good deal of his free time thinking about this; trying to anticipate them and find a way to avoid them. To that end he had created this new mask; so that he could attend social functions with her and be there when she needed him. He had purchased a new home for them, where she could have light and plants, entertain friends and feel a part of this world. He had found a job for himself; running a bookshop, so that he wouldn't always be underfoot, so he would have his own interests and allow her more time to herself.

But what about children?

How this topic had been dominating his thoughts and tormenting him! She was still quite young, but eventually her thoughts would turn to this. It seemed inevitable.

Her immediate counter to his assertion that he likely could never give her children had been to say that he didn't know that; not without genetic counseling and that quick defense of the possibility told him this would eventually prove to be a serious issue, that she would insist on being a parent.

And when that happened, if it were even possible, would he make any sort of a decent parent? Without even a memory of his own childhood, he was clueless when it came to infants and children. What kind of role model would he be for them?

That one had him laughing silently at the mental image of him telling them to be good for mum while he was out dispatching villains.

Yet he digressed. The point was even more simple than all this. If Evey insisted on a child, then what would he do? What should be his response? He wasn't either for or against the child itself, it was what the 'trying' to have one would do to Evey, to them, that worried him.

He didn't think he could stand to see her get her hopes up at each apparent success only to continually miscarry. Even if genetic counseling showed it were a possibility, what would be the odds? Surely they wouldn't be good and call him selfish, but he didn't think he could stand to have her carry another man's child. It would be just one more reminder that he didn't quite measure up to other men.

Perhaps the best choice would be to agree to at least investigate the probability of it.

Yes, that was a good way to start, he decided, feeling much better for having thought it through.

By then, he was only a block away from the British Museum.

'Besides,' he thought, belatedly, 'we both have to survive this new puppet-master threat first.'

* * *

Evey was just entering the Great Court, otherwise known as the museum lobby, when V made an appearance, entering through the doors on Great Russell Street.

Her heart recognized him instantly; skipping several beats at the sight of him, at the same time he noticed her and moved quickly to greet her. Taking the large bag out of her hands, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Now how am I supposed to remain miffed at you when you show up looking this handsome?" she teased.

"I must warn you that I am a man unaccustomed to such praise and therefore flattery won't afford you any advantage," he teased.

She laughed as he led her back towards the street. "What's in the bag?"

"What's in yours?" he countered with a small smile.

"I asked you first," she insisted.

He held the door for her and then followed her out. "Very well. I've brought our dinner, along with a bottle of fine wine." He gave her a sly look. "What's in your bag?"

"More bags. Plastic bags. Anything we can use to pack up the few measly possessions that I accumulated in the flat."

He nodded. "Well, thank goodness you're not a packrat like I am. It looks about to storm." He stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi.

"Oh, good idea," she commented. The weather was indeed turning; it had become quite cold and very windy and she wouldn't be at all surprised if it snowed before the night was out. Walking in this was something she didn't relish. Besides she'd much rather spend the extra time with him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later she unlocked the door to her flat and stepped back so that he could enter first.

She hadn't exaggerated her description of the place; it was very small, shabby and situated in a rundown area to boot, but as she had said, she'd been desperate for a place to live and the price had been right.

There was barely enough room for the small bed, sofa and tiny table with two chairs. An equally small closet was in the wall to the right, the bathroom door to the left. The kitchen was little more than a sink and one small cabinet with a microwave oven and a hot plate atop it.

"I warned you..." Evey laughed halfheartedly.

He walked back to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't be embarrassed, love. You wouldn't believe some of the places I lived before establishing my gallery."

She gave him a quick hug. "Well, as you can see, we won't have much trouble packing up. Should we get it done before we eat and talk?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

Walking back to the beat up old coat rack, she began to remove her coat as he stepped up and helping her off with it, hung it up for her. Then he removed his own and placed it on the rack, which threatened to collapse under its weight at any minute. It was with some trepidation that he also hung his scarf on it. Seeing her kick off her shoes, he did the same and enjoyed her reaction to the sight of his blood red socks.

"Good lord, V," she laughed. "Talk about a splash of color!"

"Yes, well, they match my scarf," he explained and had a good chuckle of his own over the look on her face.

She handed him a few plastic bags. "Why don't you start in here while I get my things out of the bathroom?"

He nodded, excited by the prospect of exploring her possessions.

As she left the room, he scanned it with his eyes, trying to decide upon what might be the juiciest starting place. The bed, he thought; definitely under the bed.

Taking a few steps to the bed, he squatted down and lifted the bed skirt with one hand while feeling underneath with the other. After moving closer and getting down on his knees he finally snagged something and pulled out a large plastic storage box.

Now here was a dilemma; this container could travel as it was. How could he justify opening it, let alone going through its contents? Acknowledging defeat, he lifted it and carried it to the kitchen table, with every intention of leaving it untouched.

That intention vaporized the instant he saw a small, hard covered notebook through the clear plastic of the box. The book was nestled between what seemed to be sweaters and assorted other shirts.

He quickly shot a look towards the bathroom, where, from the sound of it, Evey was still busy cleaning out the medicine cabinet.

Quickly, he lifted the lid and snatched the book, then collapsed onto the kitchen chair in ecstasy as he realized that he was indeed holding her journal in his hands. He knew he shouldn't read it; the gentleman in him was recoiling in horror at the very thought, but to finally know, beyond a shadow of a doubt how she felt about him...

With shaking fingers, he opened it and flipped through the pages quickly until he came to a page that instantly commanded his attention, where she seemed to be describing her attraction to him:

* * *

_**I don't know when or how it happened precisely, but one day I suddenly realized that I was in love with my captor. Whenever I think on it, I remember the moment so clearly that it is as though I'm back there, reliving it as it happened. **_

_**I had been coming out of the kitchen and V was standing in his art gallery, admiring the pictures. I remember stopping in my tracks and just watching him; the way he stood so solidly, his legs shoulder length apart, his hands clasped before him.**_

_**He took his time and looked over each painting in turn as though it was the first time he had ever seen them.**_

_**And I was suddenly filled with an appreciation not just for the keen intellect and intelligence I had come to know resided in that form, but for the form itself; for all of him, body and mind.**_

_**Every little move he made, from the graceful step he took forward to the way in which he tilted his head while regarding the artwork, struck me like a hammer blow.**_

_**Just as surely as I knew he was horribly burned and disfigured beneath all those layers of clothing and the mask, I also knew to the bottom of my soul that it did not matter to me; that he was beautiful and that I both wanted him and loved him.**_

_**How can one describe the moment they recognize their counterpart; the one person they are meant for? Perhaps the moment is different for each person who lives it. **_

_**For me it was a moment of perfect beauty, of utter clarity of thought and mind, which left me breathless and suddenly more alive than I had ever been before.**_

_**

* * *

**_

With shaking hands, he closed the journal and clutched it to his chest, barely aware of the tears that ran down his face. He was overcome with relief and joy at the moment she had described, knowing finally in his heart that she did not pity him, but rather and quite to the contrary found him as irresistible and desirable as he found her.

Her words had truly set him free, putting all his doubts to rest. For once, he felt whole.

He remained hunched over in the kitchen chair as raw emotions and thoughts swept over him, riding out the storm without even once trying to fight it or struggle for control. He let it have its way until with a final indrawn breath and a shudder it had passed.

There were millions of people living in this city and tonight he was finally one of them; a complete person and a worthy one at that. He no longer felt that his missing memory and face set him apart or made him less than human.

He was on equal footing with everyone else.

Standing, he reverently placed the journal back in the plastic box, just as he had found it. He would read no more of it, not without Evey's express permission.

Moving silently to the bathroom doorway, he leaned on the door jam and watched her as she finished removing the last items from beneath the sink.

* * *

She had just straightened up from collecting the last of her things from beneath the sink, when she saw him reflected in the mirror and jumped.

And then he was there, taking the bags from her and carefully setting them on the floor before sweeping her into his embrace. She found herself wrapped in strong arms, against a warm chest and then soundly kissed.

When he came up for air, she opened her eyes to find his only inches away, searching her own.

"Evey... I think the packing is going to have to wait," he whispered.

Before she could answer, he straightened and pressed her against him so that she was left with no doubt about his urgency.

In the next instant she found herself backed against the bathroom wall as he pressed against her her, tearing a moan from her. Again he kissed her, this time holding her face with his hands while his body molded itself to her own, so that his hardness pressed and rubbed in areas that had her gasping and her knees threatening to buckle.

He was forceful and passionate, ensnaring her in a whirlwind of sensation so strong that all she could do was clutch at him and try to stay upright on shaky legs.

Somehow he got her dress off and lifted her up, again bracing her against the wall as her legs automatically wrapped around him.

"Evey..." Again her name was whispered near her ear. "However did I live without you all these years?"

He thrust against her as he nibbled her ear, making her shiver with delight.

"Tell me you want me."he coaxed.

"I do so want you!" she gasped as he went back to nibbling her ear and then began to work his way down her neck, nibbling and sucking as he went.

The wall disappeared as he pulled her from it and carried her out of the bathroom. Thank heavens he was finally taking her to bed so that they could end this sweet torture!

But to her surprise, he put her down on her feet a good six feet away from the bed.

Suddenly removing his hands and mouth from her, he stepped away and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt while continuing to back up towards the bed.

Uncertain what he was doing, she stood stock-still, unable to completely stifle her cry of protest at his withdrawal.

Shirt unbuttoned completely, he pulled it free of his pants and launched himself gracefully backwards onto the bed. Clasped his hands behind his head and spread his legs just slightly, he shifted his hips suggestively.

Again she was seeing him at his most seductive and she began to tremble as a fierce need to have him swept through her. Good lord; he knew exactly what this was doing to her, what he was doing to her!

There was a big difference between sexuality and sensuality and she reflected that twenty plus years without sex seemed to have turned him into the most sensual human being on the planet. It must have been all that longing and all that reading of sensual literature. Whatever it was, in her opinion, he was at his most dangerous when he turned up that side of himself!

He pinned her with a smoldering stare and then spoke, his voice deep and velvety, "Evey, love... if you want me, then come to me. Convince me. Make me lose control... if you think you can."

The pitiful, frightened girl she had been before meeting him would have been too embarrassed and frightened by his honest sexuality to have ever responded.

She wasn't that person anymore.

And she knew that this was another test of his; another gage of her worthiness as his equal, even if he didn't realize he was testing her.

It was a challenge she welcomed. If he was daring her to push him to his limits, if he was trying to gage her own limits, he was about to be surprised!

Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra, then slowly pulled each strap, one by one down and slid her arms free, without removing the straps to her slip. In just a moment the bra was discarded at her feet.

Turning her back to him, she reached up under the slip in front of her and grasped the top of her pantyhose, then slowly began pulling them down, bending over and wiggling her hips as she worked them lower. She knew that by the time she had them to her ankles, the slip was barely covering his view of her derrière. Dropping the hose on the floor, she straightened and turned to face him.

His smoldering stare had been replaced with one of pure want and it was very obvious, even from where she stood, that his erection was straining at his pants..

"What's the matter, love?" she asked in a sultry voice. "Ready to give up already?"

"You know me better than that," he said, his voice none too steady. "Have no doubt that I shall resist your charms."

"We'll see about that," She purred, rubbing her breasts through the silk of her slip. The catch of his breath was her reward.

Slowly she approached the bed, admiring his form the entire time, unconcerned for once that he saw her eyes roaming over him. He was all litheness, wide shoulders and lean muscle and even when at rest, his form seemed to scream, "Danger! Imminent sudden acceleration!"

Standing next to the bed, she reached out one hand and barely touching her fingers to his right shoulder, she ran them slowly down his chest, over his right hip and down his thigh, carefully avoiding the one area he was, no doubt, hoping she would contact.

She held his gaze the entire time and delighted at the slight shifts in his expression. He was already working hard at acting unaffected.

"V?"

"Evey?"

"You've made a demand of me and now I have one to make of you," she said.

He merely stared at her and nodded.

"Reach above you and grasp that headboard." she demanded, then after he complied, "So long as you keep your hands there, I will continue my efforts to win your challenge, but if at any time you remove them, it will mean that I've won. Do you agree to it?

"And what if I do not?"

"You have no choice if you wish me to take up your challenge."

"A fair enough counter," he husked. "Very well, I agree."

Climbing on the bed, she knelt next to him and leaned forward to nestle her face in the crook of his neck, where she sniffed. She breathed in his scent while letting her warm breath puff over him. It was their only point of contact and she could feel the tension in him build even as a sigh escaped him.

While he was thus distracted, she sneaked her left hand back and laid her palm firmly in the inside of his right thigh. He immediately tensed, his hands gripping the metal of the headboard hard enough to make it creak.

"Are you alright?" she husked into his ear.

He shivered. "Quite. Please do carry on."

She began massaging his thigh amoving her hand upwards as, for good measure, she remained bent over him, her breasts nearly exposed to his sight, as she ran just the point of her tongue down his neck to the hollow between his collarbones.

He remained perfectly still, but seemed to be holding his breath.

That's when she removed her hand, sat back on her haunches and gave him a measuring look. "Do you know what I think?" she finally asked.

"Mmm?" Obviously he didn't trust his own voice.

"I think you really, really… need to be touched," she said in breathy imitation of Marilyn Monroe.

"Oh God, yes," he groaned.

She rubbed her chin. "There's an awful lot of you to cover," she observed. "I don't know if I'll be able to pay every part of you the attention it needs..."

"Please try," he urged.

Straddling him, she pushed his shirt apart with her hands and began running them over his shoulders and chest, thoroughly enjoying the feel of the muscles there. "I don't think you know how much I love your wide shoulders and strong chest," she sighed, alternately kneading his flesh and running her nails carefully over his patchwork skin.

He couldn't quite hide a smile. "I'm glad you so enjoy them."

Leaning forward, she grasped his hips and began to kiss and lick the same flesh she had just covered with her hands, while ever so slowly working her way downwards... and the entire way down, he fidgeted and wiggled.

"I really don't know what's wrong with you," she complained. "It's as though you just can't stay still for a moment... Do you have an attention deficit disorder, or some such?" she mumbled against his belt buckle.

"Oh, not at all," he protested. "In fact, you've got one hundred percent of my attention... although I will admit to a bit of hyperactivity."

She raised her head and looked at him. "I'll take your word on that. By the way, have I ever told you how much I love your slim hips?" She squeezed them as she spoke.

He swallowed. "No."

"And your bum, I just love your bum..." She reached under him and squeezed a buttock with each hand. "I think I'm going to have to ask permission to get a better look at them."

"Actually, I believe that my jeans have shrunk outrageously, so I would be quite grateful if you'd remove them for me." he suggested, his breathing uneven.

"Yes, I can see that you're having trouble breathing with them on," she laughed, as she began to unbuckle his belt. She took her time with it, her eyes locked on his and had to remind him not to let go of the headboard when she saw his grip beginning to loosen.

Once his belt was undone, she slowly opened his zipper, thoroughly enjoying his frustration with her lack of haste.

Finally she grasped his jeans and slowly worked them down his legs, as he shifted and tried to help by lifting his hips off the bed.

As he shifted around, the view of the thin silk boxers alternately clinging to his swollen member and sliding over it almost proved her own undoing as she felt liquid heat between her legs and her body began screaming for her to stop playing and just take him.

By the time she had his jeans off, her chest was flushed and she knew that he could see it, as his eyes were running hungrily over her. In the next moment he proved it by saying, "I see that you've spotted something you like."

"Oh yes," she sighed, lightly running her hand over the area of interest. "Very much!" She straddled him again, this time right over his crotch and began to rub herself against him, the silk boxers sliding easily over him, cutting down on friction. Leaning forward, she rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck as she moved ever so slowly and methodically.

Her sighs soon gave way to a soft, rhythmic moaning as she quickly built up to a climax.

Beneath her, V had begun to thrust in rhythm with her, straining to complete a union she wasn't yet allowing. His groans were interspersed with words of both encouragement and desperation.

... and just like that she was gone, convulsing on him as she cried his name.

"That's it, I give up!" he growled, letting go of the headboard and flipping her over onto her back. In mere seconds he had freed himself from his boxers, wrapped her hands around the headboard rails and come down atop her.

His hands wrapped around hers, keeping them on the headboard, while he kissed her. This time he made it quite clear that he wasn't waiting for her, as he took her quickly, concentrating on his own pleasure, all control gone. Somehow that knowledge was enough to push her back over the edge and when they cried out simultaneously, it was impossible to say who was the more surprised or pleased by the unexpected double pleasure.

Still in the midst of their release, their mouths joined and parted as they kissed and sighed each other's name.

He collapsed atop her briefly before rolling them onto their sides, where he continued to rain kisses over her. "Evey?"

"Mmmm?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Let's finish getting undressed," he said wryly.

She couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Much later, after dinner, after making love yet again, as they lay there wrapped in each other and completely at peace he began brushing a hand up and down her back, giving her the shivers in a delightful way. It was something he seemed to relish; yet another way in which she reacted to his touch. Yet, she also reacted because she knew him well enough by now to know that he was leading up to something, whether it be a languid repeat lovemaking session, a conversation or perhaps a sudden request that they go do something; for instance the packing they had yet to finish.

That was the thing about him; even if you could predict he was going to do something, you couldn't predict what it would be.

"Evey?"

Here it came… "Mmmm?"

"I'd like to ask you something."

She looked up at him. It wasn't usual for him to be so hesitant when questioning her. "Go on," she finally encouraged.

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Would you at some point in your life, wish to have children?"

She froze for an instant, never once having expected this open question. So far the most that they had managed was a brief conversation about birth control. He had almost immediately volunteered to have a vasectomy and she had immediately and vehemently nixed that and told him that she had already started oral contraceptive.

She lifted her head to look at him and noted that he avoided her gaze by staring up at the ceiling.

In a way she was relieved that he seemed ready to discuss the issue of children, but she also worried about him raising the issue this soon. Had he learned something new, something he wasn't telling her? Was that why he wouldn't look at her?

She decided to keep her answers simple in the hopes that they could ease into the debate.

"Yes, at some point I would like to have children," she finally replied.

"And what if that proves to be impossible?" he asked.

"Do you mean 'impossible for us' or 'impossible for me'?

His hand stopped stroking her back. His voice when he spoke was tight. "I meant for us, as you well know."

"So then you're implying that there are no alternatives?"

Now he was looking at her. "Love, are you intentionally looking for hidden meanings where there are none?"

"Sorry, I guess I can't help but feel defensive about it," she apologized. Then she rolled over and straddling him, planted her hands on his chest so that she could lean her weight forward and meet his gaze. "Let me ask you an important question," she continued. "Do you want children?"

He sighed. "That's a difficult question for me to answer. I've spent so many years considering it an impossibility... I never thought I would ever have someone like you in my life, I never thought I would live and knowing my genetic rearrangement I just have never thought it could happen even if all the other factors were overcome." He held his hands out palm up so that she could lace her fingers with his, then supported her weight as she leaned down to him for a quick kiss. "I think I would be alright with either eventuality," he continued. "but I know it's important to you and I'd like us to reach some sort of understanding about it, especially since I'm not a 'spring chick' anymore."

She had to giggle at that. "You have many more years ahead of you," she protested. "In fact, I'm beginning to think that you have at least as many lives as a cat."

It was his turn to chuckle. "Perhaps."

"Honey, no matter what happens, you have to understand that you're the one I want. I meant it when I told you I'd made my choice." She kissed him again. "I would never leave you just because we couldn't have a child, but if you know how important this is to me, then you'll at least say that you'll give it a try."

"...When the time is right," he added.

She blinked. "Then that's a yes?"

"Yes."

And there it was, just like that; an agreement she had somehow thought she would have to fight for. She smiled and began kissing him passionately, coming up for air only long enough to whisper, "Thank-you."

* * *

(NC-17 Vesion available on my homepage)

**Next time: Chapter 3: Nightmare!**

Show me a villain that hath done a rape,  
And I am sent to be revenged on him.-Titus Andronicus: V, ii


	3. Nightmare!

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes: **This story is** rated R,** for some adult content. **The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage.** As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Nightmare!**

Evey awoke just before nine o'clock and a huge grin took over her face the moment she realized that for once her lover had slept in with her.

As usual, he was on his stomach, his left arm and leg thrown over her, his cheek up against her shoulder. She tried to make him out in the dim light of the gallery bedroom, but couldn't see enough to tell if his eyes were open or shut. Then again, judging from the soft intermittent rattle coming from him, he was more than likely sound asleep. The rattle wasn't a snore, but rather a painful reminder of how badly he had been burnt escaping Larkhill; the skin under his chin and across his upper neck was contracted and pulled under his jaw. Sometimes when he slept, it was tight enough to interfere with his breathing. At the moment it was merely producing a soft rattling sound which she thought of as an endearing idiosyncrasy of his.

Thank God it was the weekend, she thought as she lay there and remembered the events of the day before. To top things off they had gotten distracted at her old flat and hadn't managed to finish collecting her things and get out of there until nearly one in the morning. By then taxis in that neighborhood were pretty hard to find and she'd had to call one on her cell phone.

Then, as they'd waited outside, some poor, stupid bloke had attempted to hold them up! Even V's presence at her side hadn't completely quelled the sudden fear that had overtaken her when she'd seen that the man had a gun.

It had literally been all over with in the blink of an eye; the man down and unconscious with V standing over him holding the gun. She hadn't even seen how he'd done it!

Looking around, he'd scooped the man up and dumped him in a dust bin in the nearby alley, commenting that they didn't want their cab scared off. He had then unloaded the gun and dumped it and the bullets down a nearby storm drain.

It was only then that she'd remembered that he had deliberately put his bags down only a moment before the man's appearance.

"You knew he was there and that he was going to do something," she'd said when came back to wrap his arms around her and help keep her warm.

He'd laughed aloud then. "My dear, it takes a skulker to spot one and somehow I knew that unlike my skulking, his was not part of any altruistic plan."

It had begun to snow then, large fat flakes blowing around them. V had smiled at her.

"My dear, it looks like you and I may be able to enjoy a nice walk through a winter wonderland tomorrow," he'd said, enthusiasm evident in his tone. "I'm thinking of some window shopping for furniture, a walk through a park, hot tea, lunch and then a retreat to our nice cozy warm bed. Are you up for it?"

"It sounds lovely," she'd replied. "But I have to go to work for a few hours tomorrow afternoon."

He'd actually managed a frown then. "Work? Tomorrow? I thought we were to have the entire weekend this time."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you earlier in all the excitement. That traveling collection from Egypt was delayed a day and I have to show up, even if for just a short while."

"Can't you get out of it?"

"I'm sorry, V."

He'd given her an enigmatic look then, one that seemed vaguely worried, even though his mask and the face beneath were not all that expressive.

Thankfully the taxi had finally arrived then. By the time they got back down to the gallery it was nearly two in the morning and they'd washed and gone straight to bed.

She smiled again, as beside her, V made his presence known by stretching lethargically and yawning.

"Well, good morning there, sleepy-head," she chirped. "I see that you slept well."

He raised his head and she knew he was trying to see her in the dark. "Very well, indeed," he sighed just before kissing her. "Despite everything that happened yesterday, the night ended very well. Lord, but that may be the best rest I've ever had!"

Giving her another heartfelt kiss, he was out of bed in a flash. As she caught his silhouette in the meager light from the gallery beyond, she saw he was donning his Fawkes mask and wig. She might have been upset by his continued insistence on keeping his face covered unless she asked otherwise, but for the fact that he padded out of the room naked.

Oh my! What a lovely view of the famous V that was; and she the only one privileged to see it! Whoever would have thought that the sight of a man in a Guy Fawkes mask, a black wig and nothing else; his patchwork nakedness illuminated by soft lighting, could be so... arousing?

Still naked herself, she bounded out of bed and ran out the door just so that she could get one more look at that wonderful male form striding away naked towards the bathroom.

Just before he entered, he turned to look directly at her and froze with a hand on the door.

She would have given anything to see his expression as the two of them were, no doubt, both gawking at each other.

He made that little enigmatic noise of his, which could mean so many things depending on the situation, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

By the time Evey emerged from the bathroom, clean, dressed and made up for a day at work, V had a wonderful breakfast ready for them and was reading a newspaper he had gone above to purchase while she had been showering.

"Anything new?" she asked.

He immediately closed the paper and rose from the table. "No, nothing new today. Hopefully the furor has died down for a while." He set the paper aside and poured them some tea as she sat down.

She looked him over; he was dressed in black pants and a light gray silk shirt, his reconstructed face mask back in place. The memory of the sight of him walking to the bathroom that morning was still with her and managed to completely eclipse his current appearance.

He chuckled. "If you continue to stare at me in that fashion and sigh so prettily, I'll be forced to take you back to bed, my love," he warned. "And then I guarantee you'll be late for work again."

She sat bolt upright as he placed her food in front of her. "Sorry, couldn't help it," she mumbled.

He captured her chin in his gloved hand. "And you'll never know how much that means to me," he sighed.

"Ever since last night, you've been extremely certain of your ability to affect me," she observed. "In fact I might go so far as to say you've been 'flaunting it'," she laughed. "Want to let me in on what's changed?"

He smiled. "Let's just say that I finally believe that you really do find me attractive... despite everything."

"Is that so? Well, it's about damned time!" She flicked her napkin at him. "I'm sure that having Audrey all over you the other day did wonders for your ego..."

He looked at her askance as he seated himself opposite her. "Oh please!" he protested, rolling his eyes in a way that had her choking on her tea. "I told you; I thought I was going to have to defend myself for a while there, and there I was without even my daggers!"

She took a few mouthfuls of the sausage and egg casserole he had made and praised him for it, the said, "Speaking about your daggers... we are going to discuss yesterday, right?" she asked.

"Yes. Please do start." He took a bite of his own food and met her gaze.

"Alright. Whatever made you go out armed the other night without so much as a word to me? What if something had happened to you; I never would have known!"

He stopped chewing and swallowed quickly before putting down his fork. "Yes, I admit to not having carefully thought that out," he admitted. "Quite honestly I was anxious, bored, and desperate for something to do, so I figured I'd take a nice walk through some dark back alleys and see if I couldn't get into a decent fight or two."

She sighed. "I know you've been out of sorts lately; restless. And I know it's been getting worse, but love... surely you could at least tell me where you're off to when you feel like pummeling villains?"

His mouth opened and no sound came out for a moment. Then he tried again. "Are you saying that you wouldn't have minded, if I had only told you first?" His tone was dubious.

She nodded.

He rested both hands on the table. "Let me get this straight; you don't mind me playing the vigilante just so long as I don't sneak off?"

"Well, of course I mind," she snorted. "but I'm not stupid enough to try to make you stop and besides; don't think that I hadn't already figured out that your dissatisfaction and disquiet lately were due to you feeling that you had no real purpose anymore. I didn't need you to tell me that!"

He gaped at her.

"Love, you're going to catch a fly," she observed as she went back to eating her breakfast.

He likewise picked up his fork. "I don't suppose you'd allow an occasional explosion?" he joked.

"Just so long as it isn't anything more than a condemned building."

He nodded and they both ate in silence for a while.

"I've already met your inspector," he finally confessed, then continued when she stopped chewing, "I correctly guessed that he might return to Victoria Station and I took great delight in surprising him there."

"Anything I need to know about?" she asked, after a long pause.

He hesitated.

"Alright," she continued when he didn't say anything. "You probably scared the man half to death; what then?"

"Finch had wanted to meet me so that he could warn me," he admitted, then explained the inspector's concerns to her. "It's the biggest reason that I do wish you would stay in today."

"I see," she said, as she tried to sort through the new information. He did have a valid reason why she shouldn't go to work, but on the other hand, she just couldn't seem to bring herself to give up her job. "But this isn't about me staying home for today, is it?" she continued. "It's about me staying home indefinitely or until the two of you solve the problem by… doing what exactly?"

"The Inspector will be filling me in on what he knows and then I'll have a better idea of how to handle it," he answered. "And yes, although I'm loath to suggest it, you really shouldn't be going out without my company until this is settled."

"Veee..." she started to protest.

"Evey," he cut her off. "Please tell me you'll at least consider my request."

She couldn't help but feel annoyed despite that she knew much of his stance was based upon both his chivalrous nature and his love for her. Still, she felt that the best policy was honesty, so she felt she had to make her position clear.

"Look; I'm not the only one in danger here, nor am I the prime target. You and Eric are the more likely to be harmed by this group, yet I don't see you two making a pact to stay indoors hiding and that is what pisses me off about this; that you expect me to do what you won't."

"Love, please be reasonable..." he began.

"What, I'm not being reasonable?" she snapped. "Aren't I the one who is trying to reason this through with you?"

His eyebrows drew together and their strong arches made him suddenly look quite cross. "Your friend, Finch has got a gun," he said, in a voice that was oh so reasonable, but at the same time chilly. "I've got my knives and the two of us have many years of experience in spotting dangerous situations and either avoiding them or defending ourselves. "You, quite simply, do not. Neither of us can protect you if you're at work. It's as simple as that and it has nothing to do with you being a woman or you being someone we each care about in our own way. We would give the same advice to anyone in this situation."

"You're talking about me giving up my job!"

"No, I'm talking about you not risking something much more precious; your life," he corrected, then added gently, "Love, you can always get another job."

She felt tears begin to sting her eyes and stubbornly fought them, as a sense of injustice settled upon her. "Until you and Eric have a clearer idea of what's what and until you've a plan to deal with it, I refuse to give in to fear and give up my job," she insisted. "So, you can either walk me there and enjoy the scenery as you had wanted to or you can just stay here... unless of course you plan on detaining me in a prison again?"

She regretted her last sentence the moment she'd said it.

V's mouth formed a tightly controlled line as he rose suddenly to his feet and dropped his napkin atop his plate. "So much for breakfast," he said in a clipped tone. "I'll go get my coat and meet you at the gate."

As he began to move past her, she grabbed his forearm. "V, I'm sorry... I didn't mean that."

He easily shook off her arm and stared down at her. "Yes you did; you meant to hurt me even if you didn't mean the words. If you're still intent upon risking your life and being so foolishly stubborn, then our conversation is over."

"I'm going to work. Please just try to..."

He cut her off again. "I'll be waiting at the gate."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Evey tried to hook her arm through his as they walked up Charring Cross, leaning into him in the attempt to use him as a wind break and take advantage of some of his body heat.

He also knew that she was trying desperately to win back his favor.

With a sigh, he relented and this time; her third try in five minutes, he allowed her to take his arm. He was rewarded with a rueful smile.

Despite everything, it made him feel a bit better.

He looked about as they walked. The sky was heavily overcast and in addition to the extreme cold, a strong wind blew steadily, quickly robbing a body of its heat. It wasn't the best of weather, but the quarter foot of snow on the ground made everything look new and hinted at the holiday season, which was just gearing up.

He had hoped that it would be his first truly happy holiday season, because he would finally have someone to share it with. Now he hoped only to be lucky enough just to keep her alive.

Evey.

He was still beside himself over their little tiff that morning. She was being stubborn in the extreme and given the situation, it was stressing him no end. He could only pray that all would be well for just a few more days and that he would quickly ferret out the P.M. with Finch's help. Then he would do his best to eliminate the threat in record time.

His only other hope was that Evey would relent and agreed to remain home. In the meantime he would have no choice but to assume his other persona and begin watching out for her and that would be problematic during the light of day.

He tried to lighten his mood by remembering the lovely time they had shared the night before. Despite their little differences, they did see most things the same way. Even so, those differences made things more interesting in his opinion. He might be quite put out over her decision to go to work, but he still loved her greatly, admired her strength of character... and was enjoying his winter walk with her.

Just then Evey pointed at a shop window, laughing merrily as she commented on a preposterous display. Tugging on his arm, she pulled him towards it, and he had to laugh along with her at the sight.

And that was when a woman up the street caught his attention.

Immediately his heightened senses kicked in and time seemed to slow.

She was hurrying in his direction with a male companion and there was something about her...

"Oh for God's sake, you idiot!" the woman yelled into her cell phone as her companion cringed.

And it was as though her voice had thrown a switch!

It suddenly hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks; he felt ill, lightheaded, nauseous, completely confused and... horrified.

...The woman heading in his direction was... his wife.

Or had been.

Or was.

And there he stood, wearing a mask of his true face!

"Evey!" As she turned to look at him questioningly, he grasped her arm and turned them both around so that their backs were to the woman.

Then he hustled her into the shop, where he hunched over and held onto her for support.

"Good God, V, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed.

And all he could do was shake his head and hold on as flashes of returning memories flooded his mind:

**"So, what is it that you're studying?" she asked.**

**"Literature. The power of words, of people's thoughts put to paper; is something I've always been taken with. And what about you? I hear that you're into politics?" he asked.**

**They were sitting together in a small bistro on their first date, or pseudo-date as he liked to think of it; he hadn't yet decided to pull out all the stops.**

**"You're right; I'm studying politics, taking some ethics courses," she replied, then sipped her drink.**

**"And what are you planning to do with them?"**

**"I'd like to get into government." At his sudden attention, she laughed. "I know, it seems surprising to most people that tiny little me would be that ambitious, but I am. This is something I want very badly to do and I must warn you that I'll stop at nothing to achieve it."**

**She had his attention now. "If there's one thing I admire it's that kind of attitude; that you can do whatever you want if you put your mind to it, but that 'stopping at nothing' part has got me a bit worried," he challenged.**

**"Well, I am who I am, and at least I've warned you up front," she teased**

**000000000000000000000000000000000000**

**She was standing at the stove teaching him how to make "eggy in the basket" as her family called it... then they got into a row over the amount of salt she used.**

**000000000000000000000000000000000000 **

**She was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper with a scowl on her face and as he poured her some tea, she folded it up and slammed it to the floor.**

**"Well, that was just lovely," she snapped.**

**He raised an eyebrow. "You don't like my article?"**

**"You know very well that I don't! You knew I wouldn't like it when you published it!" She sighed and raised a hand to her brow. "You have to remember that everything you write ends up being reflected back on me."**

**"Guilty by association, you say?" He sat down and nibbled some toast. "Why don't you tackle that problem head on; make certain that your critics understand that you respect peoples' rights to their own opinion and that my writing in no way reflects your thoughts?"**

**"You know damn well that is not how it works!" she snapped. "You're my husband. If I'm unable to curb your penchant for needling them, then I'll be seen as weak, as a liability to the party."**

**"So much for respecting my opinions," he sighed.**

**"Dear, you know damned well I've never respected them." **

**The sad thing was that she was serious.**

**000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

**He'd just finished writing and submitting his latest article electronically at his university office when the door burst open and he instantly found himself surrounded by government enforcers. What were they calling themselves these days; fingermen?**

**"Well, well. Well," the highest ranked man taunted. "Looks like we've finally zeroed in on our anonymous writer." He leaned in close and slapped his metal baton threateningly against his victim's thigh. "Time to disappear."**

**"Do you have any idea who my wife is?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.**

**"Actually, we do. She's the one who tipped us off. Oh, and by the way; the article you just sent will never see the light of day. We had your computer rerouted last week. Everything is on file in our system. I must say that your wife was most displeased when she read your latest work."**

**All the fight went out of him then. He had nothing left to say and the men surrounding him seemed to sense it as without further adieu, they secured his arms behind him and slipped a black bag over his head.**

**And all he could think was that he had wasted five years on a woman he never should have even asked out on a****second date.**

* * *

"V?" Evey's voice was urgent, panicked. "V!"

He looked up, saw that the woman had already passed by and clamping a hand over his mouth, he reeled out the door and vomited explosively on the walk beside the bricks of the building.

And Evey was there, rubbing his back as he hunched over miserably, humiliated by the entire thing.

"Oh God, love... what's happening? Please, tell me what's wrong!" she pleaded.

All he could do was shake his head and wait for the heaves and trembling to stop. Beneath his mask and clothes, he could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat everywhere his skin was still intact.

Shock; that was it, he was in shock...

"Evey," he finally croaked. "I need to get back to the gallery."

"I'll hail a cab!" She moved towards the street.

He heard her call out to an approaching vehicle and finally managed to wipe his mouth with the back of his glove and straighten up. Looking around him, it seemed as though the light had dimmed, all the joy suddenly sapped from world around him by the deep depression that had suddenly settled over him like a cloak.

Numbly he let Evey guide him into the back of the cab. He was only dimly aware of her giving the driver directions as his fevered mind went over and over the memories which had resurfaced.

He had married the wrong woman at the worst possible time.

He'd been on his way to a literary position at university and she had quickly come to the attention of Adam Sutler's party.

And she had, in the end, done whatever it took to secure her position, even to having made him disappear... to Larkhill.

"V, we're here. Come on," Evey said, trying to jostle him into leaving the cab.

Numbly, he did just that and then, as she was paying the man, he took off as quickly as he could towards the tube entrance a few blocks over which would take him to his Shadow Gallery.

* * *

She found him in a far corner of the rose room, his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around them and his hands clutching his head, which was resting on his knees. He was rocking slowly back and forth.

On the floor in front of him lay his realistic mask; he had literally torn it off his face, a face that was now hidden from her view.

Evey felt a chill go through her at the sight of him. Something dreadful had happened in an instant and she had somehow missed it. More than that, he seemed to be in the midst of a complete mental breakdown.

Sitting beside him, she put an arm around his shoulders and tried to pull him to her, but he resisted her.

"V... love, what's happened? Please tell me!" she entreated.

He shook his head. "I can't. Please don't ask me... not yet..." he said, his voice nearly a sob.

"You have to tell me what's wrong!" she cried.

He rocked himself faster. "I remembered something... from before..." he moaned. "My mask; I want my mask... Please?"

She was quite literately stunned. Was he saying that his memory, or part of it had returned? It was almost maddening not to ask him to explain further, but she could see, just looking at him that she would have to give him some time and wait for him to speak.

No, best thing she could do right now was to keep a close eye on him while he came to terms with whatever it was that was tearing him apart.

"I'll go get it, love," she told him. "But, will you come up to the gallery with me?"

He shook his head no and continued to rock himself.

With her heart pounding, she stood and after retrieving his discarded mask, set out for the gallery proper. Just seeing him reduced to such raw emotion was making her react; she felt ill, frightened and extremely worried for him.

She sped up, almost running to get her errand completed so that she could get back to him. She couldn't risk him harming himself. Thank goodness he had retreated to the one suite of rooms in the entire place that contained no weapons or dangerous objects of any kind!

Or was that why he had chosen it?

* * *

She'd brought him his mask... and his wig.

He remembered snatching them from her and donning them quickly, then...

Numb.

His mind felt numb... he felt like jelly...

His mind worked frantically, trying to piece together how he had arrived at this moment: She'd brought him his mask; he'd taken it, then...

...He'd tried to make her leave; something she'd adamantly refused to do. In a fury, he'd pounded the walls with his fists, torn down the red velvet curtains and screamed at her to go: to go to work as she had stubbornly insisted upon doing earlier.

Still, his brave little one had refused and told him she was staying until he returned with her to the gallery.

What else had happened? He racked his brain trying to recall... and opened his eyes.

He was lying in a fetal position in the middle of the stone floor, shivering, the cold stones having sapped his body heat. There was something covering him and stirring, he freed himself, identifying the item as one of the velvet curtains.

Evey must have covered him. There was another curtain curled beneath his head, her doing as well.

Looking around, he spied her wrapped in the last two curtains and leaning against the wall in a seated position which mirrored the one he had spent most of the day in; knees drawn up, head resting on them.

Sitting up, he couldn't help but clutch his head with his hands. He had an excruciating headache, so bad that he could feel his own pulse in his temples and see it dimly in his field of vision. At least the whirlwind of emotions had calmed down a bit, but they still left him confused and ill.

For over twenty years he had been an emotionally vacant sort of man, all finer feelings and desires either beaten or burnt out of him at Larkhill. Having no memory of his past and not planning on having a future had made that state even easier to maintain.

It was Evey who had first put a dent in his defenses. Without even meaning to, she had worn him down, made him care… and he had fallen for her. Yet, it was only after he had somehow survived his encounter with Creedy that he had begun to truly let down his guard and then only with his lover.

And that made his current condition so much worse; it was as though every pent up or missing emotion had suddenly been unleashed and all at the same time!

He had been confused, shocked, angry, sad, fearful… and now felt both a lingering confusion and an almost overwhelming depression.

Looking across the cold room at Evey, he nearly broke down again. However would he tell her that technically he was still married? God, why had he married that woman; what kind of fool had he been?

A young, idealistic, gullible one, he instantly realized.

During the last few hours he had not only wrestled with an emotional overload, but had strained to remember more, and to some extent he had succeeded, as a few stray memories were revealed.

He remembered some terrible fights, them not speaking to each other for weeks on end, him being thrown out of their bedroom… and glad for it. It seemed strange, but aside from the memory of their first meal together, he hadn't been able to remember a single pleasant moment; everything he'd recalled was negative. Even the memory of her teaching him how to cook had ended badly; with her storming out of the kitchen.

That alone seemed to sum up that relationship. It stung to know that he'd failed so miserably at marriage, but at the same time it hurt much worse to see how foolish he'd been to even have ended up with her.

But he supposed that her family had something to do with that. He'd been her brother's best friend for quite some time before having been introduced to her. And somewhere he seemed to recall thinking that as nice and good as her family was, that she herself must be like them.

What a rude awakening to discover that was not always the case. She was as unlike the rest of her kin as night was to day.

And now he had to somehow come to terms with the fact that he was still married to a woman who had sent him off to die, who had made him disappear as though he were nothing more than rubbish to be taken out and disposed of.

Somehow, someway, he would have to work this out. A continued marital association with her could not be tolerated; somehow justice would be served.

It had to be fixed. His own sense of honor would prevent him from furthering his relationship with Evey until he was truly free of his past.

To think that every day of the last twenty plus years he had hoped to remember… when now he would give anything to forget. Merely knowing the little he did know meant that he had no choice but to investigate further. He had to make certain that there wasn't anything else he needed to know. Thank God that her political ambitions left him fairly certain that there hadn't been any children. Still, if there was the slightest chance it might have happened, and since he had married her before he had been further mutated by the medical experimentation at Larkhill it was a possibility, then he had to investigate.

And that brought him back around to the fact that he would have to tell Evey... everything.

Groaning, in both physical pain and mental anguish, he somehow managed to gain his feet and shuffle over to her.

* * *

She awoke, surprised to see him on his feet. He was shaking her gently by the shoulder and she shivered, both from the cold and the uncertainty of his mental state.

"Evey, love," he whispered. "Come on, you're freezing. Let's go back to the gallery."

He offered her his hand, but when she used it to pull herself upright, he seemed about to lose his feet. Another sharp look as she gained her feet showed her the truth; he was extremely unsteady.

Tossing aside the curtains she had used as blankets, she took his hand and pulled him behind her as she made for the door. "You don't have to ask me twice," she said. Then she led the way, intentionally moving slowly. She likewise took her time unlocking and then locking the gate between the corridor they stood in, which led the back way to the tube station and the main corridor ahead. This gave him time to lean on the wall and steady himself. Stepping into the main corridor they moved through the intersection that led both up to the street and down to the main tube corridor for the station. In the small section of corridor between was a locked gate behind which lay the stairway that in turn led to the Shadow Gallery. Again he leaned heavily on the wall as she opened it and let them through, then he went on ahead as she locked it.

She caught up with him a moment later to find, with some surprise, that he was shucking his clothing in the bathroom.

Apparently noting her concern, he spoke, "I need a long hot shower to warm me, love."

"You'll be alright?" she asked doubtfully.

He nodded, naked now but for his mask and wig. "Why don't you go turn the heater on in the bedroom and wait for me there? We'll talk then; I promise."

* * *

He waited until she left the room, then closed the door and removed his mask and wig. Somehow he found the energy to climb into the small shower tub, where he squatted down miserably and let the very warm water pummel him.

It had turned out to be one of the worst days he had ever had; downright rotten in fact and he was just too sick over it to even be angry. He just wanted to warm up and crawl into bed… and never wake up.

He sighed and dashed the water from his eyes. He would have to talk with Evey first. Then perhaps he could sleep… or maybe he could get drunk first. He could only recall getting good and stinking drunk once and if that occasion called for it, this one absolutely required it.

Standing up, he turned off the water, and began to towel off.

Yes, he would have a talk with Evey and then, if necessary drink himself into a state of numb unconsciousness.

* * *

Evey got the bedroom up to a decent temperature and then made herself comfortable on top of the bed covers by propping herself up with pillows and throwing a feather comforter over herself in order to stay warm. She had a book to read and a cup of tea on the end table, but was too upset to do much with either of them.

Somehow, despite the stress and anxiety, she fell asleep.

The next thing she was aware of was awakening to V gently playing with her hair. She hadn't even been aware of him joining her under the throw. Opening her eyes she saw that he was laying on his side facing her, fully dressed in his black period garb, his mask and wig still in place.

Everything intimate about him was gone; he was again the V of old and she found it disturbing, coming as it did on top of everything else.

"Honey, are you alright?" she asked, suddenly wide-awake.

"No, and I doubt that I will be for some time to come," he replied honestly.

"Tell me about it?"

His hand stilled, then left her hair to cup her chin and tip her head up so she would meet the eyes hidden behind the mask. "Love, there's no easy way to say this other than to just come out and say it..." He took a deep breath. "I saw someone from my past on the street today and it triggered a sudden rush of memories... " There was another deep breath. "It was the woman who was, or perhaps still is... my wife."

Evey say bolt upright. "What!" Her voice sounded strange, even to her.

He sat up as well. "Evey, I'm sorry. You have to know that I didn't know."

She felt herself begin to shake in reaction. "I know," she said, trying to reassure him. "How much do you remember? Do you still love her?"

"I remember enough to know that I did not love her in the end," he replied. "Evey, she's the one who had me sent off to Larkhill."

"My God!"

He sighed, then pulled her into an embrace. "There's a slight possibility that there could have been a child and that is something I must check into. Although I must say that all my instincts tell me that she wouldn't have wanted any then."

"I understand," she whispered.

"There's something else you need to know..."

She moved out of his embrace and looked up at him. "Go on."

"The woman I married was Giselle Dietrich, Gordon Dietrich's sister. He and I were best friends at University.

She was stunned, then her mind made a connection. "That helps to explain why he made me eggy in the basket!" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "A very good explanation, as I distinctly remember Giselle teaching me how to make it. Apparently it was a Dietrich family tradition of sorts."

"This is incredible," she whispered. "I'd seen a remarkable likeness between you and Gordon."

"I wish I could remember him," he said, sounding regretful.

She rubbed his chest, her other arm twining around his waist. "What will you do?"

The mask tipped slightly in a gesture she'd always read as 'thoughtful'. "I'll ask Finch to look up the records. I don't want to know everything about my past; not yet anyway."

"Will you tell me what you learn?"

"When I'm ready." He hesitated. "Evey... I don't want to lose you. I want you to stay, but..."

She backed up on the bed, suddenly afraid of what he was about to say. "But?"

He sighed. "I'm a married man; technically anyway. You and I... Evey, we can't continue as we have until I am free."

"But we're exactly the same as we were yesterday and the day before that," she protested. "Nothing's changed!"

"Yes it has," he countered. "Today I know I'm married. My sense of honor will not allow me to knowingly break those vows and you have to understand that honor is one of the only things I have left."

She felt the tears start then. She couldn't help but feel a terrible injustice had befallen her. She had just been robbed of something priceless by a woman who had long ago rejected this man she herself loved.

"Evey..." he breathed her name and reached for her.

For once she was a little faster than him and avoided his hand by scrambling backwards off the bed. She was truly crying now, her heart breaking.

"Love, please..." he protested.

"Don't call me that!" She grabbing a large bag down from a stack of books and began throwing clothes into it.

He left the bed and moved behind her, where he hovered uncertainly for a moment or two. "Evey, please don't go," he finally pleaded.

She kept on packing. "You said that we cannot continue as we were," she sobbed. "But neither can I go back to the way things used to be. I have to leave until you do what you have to do."

He snatched her by the arm then and she felt the controlled force he was capable of when he whipped her around so that she slammed into his chest.

She cried out at the pain his fingers inflicted on her upper arm just before his own arms trapped her tightly against his chest. He was hugging her painfully, tightly to him as his masked face moved down to bury itself against her hair.

"I do love you, Evey," he said, his voice breaking. "I need you now, more than ever."

"And I love you. I'll help you in any way I can, but I cannot stay with you now," she insisted.

Long minutes passed as he continued to hold her against him. She could feel him shuddering and felt a terrible guilt when she remembered the state he had been in earlier, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Her decision had been made.

Finally she pushed herself away from him and he released her.

"Where will you go?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I'll stay with Michael if he'll have me." She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then picked up her overstuffed bag.

"It's still dangerous for you out there," he warned. "You have to stay away from the museum."

"If these Puppet Masters are as smart as you think they are, then they'll figure out that you and I are through," she countered and watched him flinch at her choice of words. "It should be safe for me as long as I avoid you."

He looked down at the floor and remained still, apparently fighting for control.

"You have Michael's phone number and I'll keep my cell phone on," she reminded, absently rubbing at her bruised upper arm.

He nodded, but didn't speak.

"Well, good-bye then," she finally managed to say.

When he still refused to lift his face or respond, she turned on her heel and forced herself to march out of the Shadow Gallery, perhaps for the last time.

* * *

After she left, he wandered aimlessly through his gallery. There wasn't much left in it; just the jukebox, the piano, a few small sculptures, a few of the smaller sized paintings and the furnishings.

It was time to close it down, move everything out. It was time to get his life in order.

The sooner the better.

He would start moving everything into the new flat, but first he had to phone Eric Finch. Fortunately he'd already arranged for telephone service at the flat and shop and it was already on.

Evey.

He couldn't think about her right now. He didn't dare. If he did, then he would...

Without a sound he collapsed on the sofa.

He didn't move again for hours.

* * *

Sunday morning brought crisp, clear blue skies and the sound of doves trilling outside.

Evey opened her eyes and at first was disoriented by the sounds and the bright light coming through the window.

Window?

Then everything came back to her and she remembered that she was at Michael's flat.

Dr. Michael Cahill had proved to be a good friend to her during the months in which she had been alone in the world and hiding from Adam Sutler's regime. And he had proved himself yet again the day before when he had taken her in, no questions asked.

Not that she hadn't told him, over dinner and a couple of bottles of wine, exactly why she was there.

"Of course you may stay!" he'd said. "Let's just hope that V doesn't kill me in a jealous rage; you do remember how bad he was when we first met!"

She'd laughed at his mock show of terror, for although V had indeed taken a jealous dislike to the man at their first meeting, they had since become good friends.

She and Michael had spent the rest of the evening watching the telly while drinking wine and catching up. He had helped her stagger down the hall to the guest bedroom and bid her good night and somehow, with the help of the wine, she had slept quite well.

Rising, she moved to the window and looked out on the snow-covered street.

Maybe she shouldn't have left. Maybe she had over reacted. He had asked her to stay and told her that he needed her; he had, after all, suffered a huge shock...

No. She had done the right thing. After all, he'd told her that suddenly another woman took precedent in his life, that she no longer had a right to him because of a former bond. That wasn't right; was it?

"You have to understand that honor is one of the only things I have left," he had said to her, while pleading his stance.

She shook her head and fought the urge to dive back into the bed and never come out, again torn with doubt over her own actions. Maybe she hadn't done the right thing after all. Would he be all right?

A sigh escaped her. What was done was done.

Best that she just wait a day or two and then check in with him.

* * *

It was just shortly after dawn on Sunday morning when V made his first appearance outside. Unlocking and opening the gates to the tube station, he bounded up the stairs and stood at street level taking in the scenery for a minute or two.

The temperature had dropped further and it was quite cold. He'd have to be careful to avoid frostbite; his damaged, relatively insensitive skin would not inform him that it was freezing and he couldn't afford any more damage.

Wrapping his scarf more firmly around his neck and shoulders, he plunged his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his coat and took off down the street towards the BFC truck he had long ago liberated from the company.

It was moving day.

He planned on working himself into an exhausted state in which he might find some escape from his inner turmoil. Obviously he hadn't handled things very well with Evey and now that he thought back on it he realized how much it must have hurt her.

What would he have done if their roles had been reversed? The same thing she had, no doubt. His pride wouldn't have allowed him to stay if he was suddenly stripped of his privileges as her lover.

He shook his head.

Time to move, to set up the flat so that when he got everything straightened out, he and Evey could start over.

He'd been loath to wear his usual mask; the one of his own face, for fear of being identified by Giselle or someone else who knew them both. As he'd learned yesterday, it was a small world; you just never knew whom you'd run into. In the end he'd gone through his other disguises one by one and realized he would have to use his true face.

For one thing, it just wouldn't do for a stranger to be caught in the new flat and shop; it might cause a lot of trouble if a police officer questioned his right to be there. For another thing he was expecting the Inspector to eventually make an appearance. If he didn't show on his own, then V would phone him.

And maybe Evey herself would drop in. Oh how he hoped she would!

By then, he'd reached the truck. Unlocking it, he climbed in and turned the engine over. A quick trip around the block and he was parking in front of the tube entrance.

He'd already spent the night disassembling his grand piano and it was one of the first things he had staged down in the tunnel. The second was the jukebox. He would be loading those first, then the carefully boxed up paintings and sculptures. On his next trip he would work on the furniture, carpets, kitchen items and the rest of their belongings.

Leaving the truck's engine running and the heater on so that he could warm up between trips, he headed back down the stairs.

By this time tomorrow the gallery should be empty and his new home beginning to take shape.

* * *

Dr. Michael Cahill rushed to get home as quickly as he could Sunday evening. After all, he had a houseguest and it would be terrible manners to leave such a beautiful lady and good friend alone any longer than necessary.

To that end he had showered and changed at the hospital and then phoned Evey that he was on his way and that she should dress for dinner. He was taking her out somewhere very nice.

A frown creased his forehead as he questioned his own motives. At first he had convinced himself that it was purely out of friendship; that she'd had a very bad weekend and could use a bit of pampering as well as a good friend to talk to. But now, he had to admit that he was far too excited by the prospect of going out with her for his motives to be purely unselfish.

He reminded himself for the third time since pulling out of the hospital parking lot that V was his friend and he owed it to him to take a strictly 'hands-off' approach to Evey. Besides, she had never reciprocated his interest, even when she'd been apart from V.

That, and the fact that V could kill him in a heartbeat ought to be enough to keep him honorable, but, damn it; he couldn't seem to leave well enough alone. A voice in his head kept whispering that he'd regret it forever if he didn't at least give it one more try.

He'd just have to be very careful about it.

* * *

Evey walked out into the foyer to greet Michael as soon as she heard him unlock the door. "Did you have a good day?"

He threw his keys on the foyer table and looked her over appreciatively. "You look lovely," he replied. "And yes, I did have a good day despite having had too much wine to drink last night," he laughed.

"Sorry," she answered, also laughing. "But I really needed that wine!"

"I know you did." He gave her a quick peck n the cheek. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Let me just get my purse and coat." Running back into the bedroom, she slipped on her pumps and admired herself in the full length mirror behind the door. She was wearing her simple black dress with black hose. Her miniature Fawkes mask pendant was around her neck as it always was, but tucked in the dress so that only the silver chain showed. Thank goodness the puffiness around her eyes had gone down; she looked pretty good if she did say so herself.

Shrugging on her heavy black coat, she grabbed her purse and met Michael at the door. He let her out and then locked up after her. Placing a hand on her back he guided her to the elevator in the hallway that would take them to the underground car park.

Evey frowned slightly, uncomfortable about the sudden constant touches she was receiving. Come to think of it, he had been looking at her differently as well. She hoped that he hadn't taken her explanation of why she was staying with him as meaning that she was 'free'.

Still, he was a good friend and she was loath to jump to conclusions. Hopefully it wouldn't become necessary to hurt him and she could instead drop a few hints.

Her thoughts again turned towards V, whom she had been thinking of most of the day. She wished he would phone her; she's been checking her cell phone all day long just to be certain she hadn't somehow missed a call! Even now the urge to check it again was creeping back.

Then the elevator opened and she was walking across the parking area towards Michael's car.

She would wait until after dinner to check her phone again, she promised herself. It wasn't everyday that a woman of little means like herself got to eat at the best French restaurant in the city.

She was determined to enjoy it and repay Michael's kindness by being a wonderful dinner companion. After all, who knew if she would ever again get the chance to do something like this?

* * *

V slid his back down the wall until he was sitting with his knees drawn up, then let his head tilt backwards to likewise rest on the wall.

He was as tired as he could ever remember being.

It was just past six o'clock and he'd been working since before dawn, but now at least everything had been moved from the Shadow Gallery to the new flat.

He was in the reception room catching his breath after hoisting up the sofa. As strong as he was, moving so many very heavy things without either the help or guidance of another person had been exhausting. Not only that, but he was certain that there were areas where his contracted and scarred skin had split from the stress of his efforts.

Removing his gloves, he wiped his hands on his pants, then unbuttoned his shirt. He felt hot and sticky and just couldn't wait for a shower and a cup of tea.

But that would have to wait until he finished arranging a few things, put the bed frame back together and checked on his security system.

The system was one he had designed and he'd completed it just the day before; very small, impossible to detect sensors were embedded in the window frames and doorways. Any attempt to break the glass or open them in any way would set the system off, and it would either issue a very loud alarm or a nearly silent one, depending upon how he set it. In addition, he had built a few lethal consequences into the tripping of the lower level alarms.

With all the priceless things he had moved in, the system was an absolute necessity. Nobody would be sneaking uninvited into his home!

Dragging himself to his feet, he groaned and stretched. No doubt about it; he'd be just a little bit sore tomorrow.

Making his way to the kitchen, he picked up the telephone handset he had placed there and dialed Dr. Michael Cahill. Talking with Evey was the reward he had intended for himself if he finished moving everything in tonight.

He reached the answering machine and frowned. No one at home? No matter; he dialed his friend's cell phone instead.

After a few rings, Michael picked up. "Hello?"

"It is I," he replied; it was a long-standing joke between them.

"So it is!" Michael laughed, then lowered his voice. "V, how are you faring… and whatever have you done to Evey?"

"Is she there?"

"She's just gone for a visit to the ladies' room," Michael replied. "She'll be back in a moment."

"Where are you, exactly?" he asked.

"We're out at a restaurant. I thought I'd treat the poor girl; she could do with some cheering up. So then, how are you faring?" the doctor asked, changing the subject.

"I've certainly been happier," he sighed. "How much has she told you?"

"Enough to know that you're apparently already married."

An alarm went off in his head. He had long suspected that Michael viewed Evey as more than just a friend. "That's something I plan on remedying as soon as possible," he replied. "And you should know that although Evey has moved out, that is merely a temporary thing.

"Is that so?"

"Michael, you've no hope at winning her because she's already mine; heart and soul. For the sake of our friendship and your well-being, I hope that you don't insult her by trying," he warned.

"Are you threatening me?" Michael sounded angry.

"No. I'm merely warning you that you'll just cause trouble between us and between yourself and Evey if you don't heed my advice."

There was a long pause, then Michael spoke in a clipped, abrupt fashion, "Here she is."

"Hello?" It was Evey.

"I miss you, my love," he breathed, happy to simply hear her voice.

"I miss you, too," she answered. "Please tell me that you're alright and that you forgive me for leaving as I did," she pleaded. "I was distraught and…"

"Evey," he interrupted her. "There's nothing to forgive just so long as you still love me."

"Oh, I do. I do so love you…" she whispered. "So now, please tell me the truth; how are you faring?"

He sighed heavily, as a large weight seemed to drop from his shoulders. "I've kept myself very busy," he answered.

"What are you doing?'

"I've moved everything from the gallery to our new flat," he informed her with a certain amount of pride.

"Everything?" she sounded shocked.

"Everything," he confirmed. "I have the security up to my usual standards and I even have telephone service." He gave her the phone number after she dug a notepad and pen out of her purse.

"Are you enjoying your dinner with Michael?" he asked.

"Very much! He's taken me to a fine French restaurant and the food is unbelievable!" she gushed. "I wish you could be here."

"Moi aussi," he replied. "Well, I should let you get back to your meal. I'll let you know what I learn about… my situation as anything comes up."

"OK." She sounded disappointed.

"Evey, may I see you tomorrow?" he finally asked.

"I'd like that."

"Are you going to work? Please say that you won't," he pleaded.

"As I said, your enemies are certain to see that I've moved in with Michael. I just don't see why they would try to hurt me now," she reasoned

"Evey, why risk it?"

"Because it's important to me," she explained.

He couldn't argue with that. "Then I'll see you after work tomorrow. Good-night little one."

"Good-night handsome."

He was so stunned by her choice of words that it took him a minute to realize she had already hung up the phone.

He had wandered back to the reception window, which overlooked the street and now noted a car pulling up in front of the building.

Putting down the phone, he headed for the stairs.

* * *

Chief Inspector Eric Finch parked his car in front of the little book shop and looked it over carefully. Nothing seemed amiss aside from the fact that an old sign in the door said closed, and many of the bookshelves were bare.

His eyes then looked upwards, taking in the light that streamed from the flats upstairs. He couldn't say for certain, but he believed that the windows to the right belonged to the address he had written in his notebook.

And he was pretty certain that the address he had belonged to a man who was going by the alias of Varden Hammond, but whom the world otherwise knew as V.

It had been a stroke of genius on his part, or so Dominic had told him, but he had begun searching the database for all new identification cards issues to anyone with the last name of Hammond. Out of the returned results, he'd begun with those whose first name began with V.

Vartan Hammond had been one of the very first on the list and the listed street address had turned out to be false. The really damning thing had been discovering that the listed date of birth had been the same month and day as Evey's. Only the birth year was different and, if correct, showed the man's age to be forty seven. 

A final system wide search had uncovered the recent purchase of this property as well as records of new bank accounts.

If Vartan Hammond didn't turn out to be his man, then it was time for him to retire!

Leaving his car, he approached the door to the flat and was surprised when it opened before he could knock.

The man who had stared back at him from the identification card stood there. With a little sound that might have been approval, he threw the door open wider and disappeared back inside.

"Ah, Inspector, there you are. Please do come in," came the voice he recognized as V's. "Oh and please excuse the mess."

He stepped inside cautiously and saw the man in question waiting for him patiently at the door to another room.

"You were expecting me?" he asked, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Of course, although I am both surprised and impressed that you showed up so soon. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow." The man smiled slightly, clearly amused.

Finch was stunned.

Seeing his expression, V spoke, "Come now; of course I set things up so that you could trace me and if you hadn't passed that simple test, I would have had nothing further to do with you. You would have proved yourself of little use to me."

"My, we have a high opinion of ourself," he said sourly.

V's smile vanished. "Do you think so? I was merely stating the facts, not promoting myself." He moved through the other doorway. "Come, Inspector, I've much to show and tell you..."

Following him through the door, Finch found himself in a large, windowless room which had become a staging area for nearly every bit of art from the Shadow Gallery.

"You've been busy," he observed.

"You have no idea," V answered dryly. He led the way to a far corner where a desk had been set up with multiple computers and LCD screens. He sat at the sole chair. "My pardon. I've only the one chair handy," he said. "Still, what I have to show you won't take long and then I can show you the upstairs."

He proceeded to reveal his ability to hack into all the major organizational networks in the government, but refused to reveal how he'd accomplished it.

"My reasons for showing you this are two-fold," he said. "First so that you see how much information I have at my disposal, and second so that you know that I have a secure network for gathering that information; a place where you could sleuth without the P.M. Spying on you."

"You're offering to allow me to work from here when I need to?" he asked.

"I am."

"Excellent," he replied. "And now please tell me what use you wished to make of me."

V told him then about his burst of memory, about Evey moving in with her doctor friend and asked that he investigate his background.

"You do see; I can easily do it myself, but I'm not certain at this point that I'm ready to have my true past revealed," V explained. "I'll trust you to tell me only that which you feel I must know. Keep everything else to yourself until such time as I ask to be told."

"Fair enough. Now, would you like to hear what I know about the Puppet Masters?"

V stood up. "Definitely, but please, let's go upstairs and get more comfortable. Perhaps you'll allow me to shower while you enjoy a beer?"

"Sounds good." He reached out and touched the man's arm as he made to leave the room. "Do you make those masks yourself?" he asked. "They're very, very good. Hollywood heyday good, in fact. Even standing this close to you I can't tell it isn't really you."

V looked at him quizzically for a moment. "Ah yes! Of course; you read Delia's diary, didn't you?"

Finch nodded. "For what it's worth, I admire your fortitude of spirit and purpose. I can't imagine living through such burns."

"No you can't," came the man's sad reply.

* * *

It was well past nine when Eric Finch left for the night and V had to congratulated himself on several hours well spent with the Inspector. There was no doubt that the man was sharp and wily. His many years of experience on the force had allowed him to make correct assumptions about the Puppet Masters which V would most likely have dismissed.

At least he now had a few leads, a few suspects to shadow.. and perhaps soon he would have important information to share with Finch.

He felt some apprehension at the knowledge that by this time tomorrow Finch would have some important personal information for him as well.

After arming the security system, he stretched and groaned, then climbed the stairs to the flat. He couldn't remember the last time he had worked his muscles to the point where ached.

The inspector had promised to come by after work tomorrow. He also offered to pick up Evey along the way; he would call her and let her know to expect him.

He pulled off his socks and shoes, then stripped down to his boxers and collapsed upon the mattress, which as still on the floor in the bedroom. He would put the bed together tomorrow.

A sigh escaped him just moments before he fell deeply asleep, his thoughts drifting towards Evey and the fact that he would see her tomorrow.

Those thoughts led to dreams of her.

* * *

"Excuse me miss?"

Audrey looked up from the document she was typing to find an older man standing before her desk. He wore a rumbled suit and looked to be around fifty years of age.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm looking for Miss Evey Hammond. Do you think I could take a moment of her time?"

She looked him over suspiciously. "Who may I tell her is here?"

"Chief Inspector Finch."

Audrey immediately sat up straighter. "Of course, sir. She's been expecting you," she said, standing and moving off to the door to the catalog room in the back.

As she made to open it, the man moved in close, his elbow flashing towards her face...

...and everything went black.

* * *

Evey and Martha finished carefully lowered their charge into a small crate on a cart in the catalog room. They'd spent the better part of the last two hours carefully padding, wrapping and double-wrapping it to keep it safe on its trip to Paris. All that was left was to add the Styrofoam packing, complete the paperwork and a call down to their shipping crew to come and fetch it.

"I'm glad that's done," Martha exclaimed, wiping her hands on an old bit of scrap cloth. "Looks like we'll just manage to get done before five."

Evey nodded. She'd been hoping to finish before then as well; she didn't want to further unsettle V by leaving late on top of everything. In fact, she was very anxious to get back to him and show him just how much she still loved him. In fact, she planned on starting by resigning her job on her way out the door.

Then she would do whatever it took to help soothe the rest of his worries...

She turned towards Martha. "I'll tell you what," she said. "Why don't you add the packing material and I'll complete the paperwork?"

"Good idea!" Martha smiled and turned toward the back of the room to fetch the box of packing material just as the door opened. As a result she didn't immediately see the man who entered.

"Miss Hammond?" he asked.

"Yes?" she responded and then saw him raise his arm. Martha started to turn and step in front of her just as she realized what the man was holding.

"Martha!" she screamed, as she lunged and pushed her friend away.

She never even heard the shot.

* * *

Eric was half way to the museum when his cell phone rang.

"Yes, Dominic?" he answered.

"There's been a shooting at the British Museum," his partner said. "Eric..."

"No..." His mind instantly rebelled at what he knew Dom was about to say.

"Yes. It's Evey. I've heard that she's still alive and aside from another woman being knocked out, no one else was harmed. We had three officers stationed at or near the museum and they're there now. The ambulance and support teams are on their way."

With a huge effort, Finch managed to pull the wheel and turn the car around. Everything screamed for him to hit the gas and rush to the museum; to Evey, but he knew he had an obligation to bring V and to do it now. The man might not get another chance to see his lover.

"I'm on my way," he informed his partner. "Where are you?"

"Likewise. I should arrive in fifteen minutes."

"Keep me informed." Without further adieu, he clicked the phone off, put on the siren and lights, then hit the gas.

Five minutes later he was roaring to a stop in front of the bookshop. He all but leaped out of the car and was soon pounding on the locked front door.

It opened almost immediately. V must have heard his tires squealing as he pulled up. Even now the man was pulling on his coat, his eyes betraying the fact that he had already assumed the worst; that he knew Evey had been hurt.

"Is she alive?" he asked, his voice unsteady, as he closed the shop door and began to run with him to the car.

"As of five minutes ago she was," he replied.

When both car doors had slammed closed, he gunned the engine and pulled out at breakneck speed. A glance informed him that V was staring at him and he somehow knew that the man was silently begging for information, that he just couldn't even speak at the moment.

"I don't have any details yet," he offered up. "All I know is that she was shot."

"No..." It was a hollow, barely audible sound that spoke volumes.

* * *

When Finch pulled up in front of the museum, he saw that his team already had barriers up and the entire place cordoned off. Two ambulances sat out front with their lights flashing amid a sea of lit up police cars. Two of the cars, pulled aside and made way for him as he approached. He parked on the sidewalk, just outside the barriers.

V was out of the car before it had even stopped, though he couldn't tell how the man had accomplished it without losing his feet. Even now, as Finch ran to catch up with him, his men attempted to stop the vigilante at the front doors and were quickly and efficiently, but gently put down on their asses.

"He's with me," he yelled to his men. "Let him through!"

Upon entering the great court, he saw that V had finally been stopped by two policemen with their guns drawn and he quickly moved to place himself between them.

Again he informed his men that V was with him and they immediately holstered their firearms. The man made to move forward again, but was stopped by a woman who cried out, "V!" and threw herself, sobbing into his arms. It was, he saw, Evey's friend, Martha.

V's arms went around her and he hugged her tightly to him as she began to cry in earnest.

"Martha, what happened?" he asked, brokenly.

Finch moved closer so that he could hear what she had to say.

"A man knocked Audrey out and then came into the Catalog room. He asked Evey if she were Evey Hammond…" she stopped as she was overcome by another round of sobbing.

One look at V was enough for him to take pity and spare the man the trauma of having to ask the next question.

"Martha, what happened next?" he prompted.

"He shot her," she wailed. "Evey pushed me out of the way and he shot her in the head!" She broke down completely then, wailing inconsolably as V stared at him in absolute horror.

"Derrick!" he bellowed at one of his larger officers, who was close at hand. The man instantly rushed over and at a gesture from him, gathered Martha and began walking her towards the nearby restaurant, where he would, no doubt, do his best to comfort her.

Grabbing V's arm, Finch pulled him along as he headed for the lifts and pulling out his phone, dialed Dominic.

"I'm in the great court. Where are you?" he asked as soon as his partner answered.

"Upstairs escorting the paramedics down," came the answer. "Lift number two."

"Is she…"

"It doesn't look good, Eric, but at least she's still alive."

"I'll clear the floor. Over." He shut his phone then bellowed to his men to clear a path to the ambulances. The entire time, he'd kept hold of V's arm and he suddenly became aware that the man was now shaking."

"Steady on," he encouraged. "She'll need your strength and where there's life there's always hope." The words sounded hollow even to him and no wonder; how could he encourage hope in this man when he himself held out none? He's seen too many terrible things during his life to have any sort of optimism in these situations. It was just too painful; best to brace for the worst. It was how he survived.

And then the lift doors were opening and they stepped to the side to let Dom and several policemen out ahead of the emergency crew and their precious cargo. As the stretcher drew even with them, they fell in beside it so that they could accompany Evey to the ambulance.

A single sob escaped V as he caught sight of her; the area around her eyes was already black, her face swollen and a huge swath of gauze bandage encircled her head all the way to the top of her brows, helping to compress it and minimize the bleeding. She had a tracheal tube in place and the medics were compressing a bag at regular intervals in order to breath for her. She was hooked to several different monitors and had at least three different intravenous solutions being squeezed into various sights by one of the medics. Worse yet, they could see that blood had already soaked through the gauze and was staining the stretcher around her head.

Then they were at the ambulance and the doors were being closed firmly in their faces as one of the paramedics said, "Sorry Sir. We can't let you ride; we'll need the room to treat her on the way."

And just like that she was gone from their sight, the ambulance roaring away.

He placed a hand on V's shoulder as the man stood there, seemingly overwhelmed and called to his partner. "Dominic?"

"Sir?"

"How much have you got for me?"

"Eyewitness accounts. Jim and Paul are checking the video. So far nothing more than that," the man answered.

"I'll take it from here. Would you please take Mr. Hammond to hospital and place any phone calls he may need?"

If Dominic was surprised by his revelation that the man with him was Evey's immediate next of kin, he didn't show it. "Of course," he answered. "Right away!"

Finch gave V a little shake and looked him in the eye. "We'll find them, I promise you," he husked. "Go with my partner here; he'll take care of anything you need."

And those eyes suddenly changed, their dead stare giving way to a hard glint.

"When you have something, promise me that you'll let me know immediately," he growled. "The people responsible for this are MINE!"

"No," he corrected. "They're ours."

**Next time: Chapter 4: Retribution**


	4. Retribution: Life

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes: **This story is** rated R,** overall for some adult content. **The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage.** As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 4a: Retribution: Life**

V paused in his pacing to lean heavily upon the waiting room wall. The waiting was excruciating and served to drive home the point that this was no bad dream; it was a hellish nightmare; four hours of of fear and hope balanced on a sword's edge.

On the mad, high-speed drive to the hospital, he'd borrowed Dominic's cell phone and dialed Michael with the news. The doctor had been horrified, but at the same time had already gone running out the door while still talking, intent upon meeting them at Hospital.

Evey had spent less than fifteen minutes in the emergency department before being sent on to neurosurgery. By then Martha and Audrey had joined both him and Dominic. Michael Cahill burst in only moments afterward and had become a constant go-between, keeping them all informed of every new piece of information.

The last bit of news had been delivered by him over two hours ago. It had been pretty good news indeed: the bullet had hit Evey high above her ear, skirted the inside of her skull and quickly exited the top of her head. Apparently her position when she had pushed Martha away, had caused her head to tip with that side up just as the bullet hit her, hence the miraculous short pathway that had spared nearly all of her brain.

The bad news was that the surgeons were still fighting to stop her bleeding, which was the immediate life-threatening issue. In exiting the top of her skull, the bullet had torn through her sagittal sinus, a huge, blood collection area in the brain that had thin walls, was difficult to repair and usually led to the patient undergoing massive blood transfusion.

Evey had been very close to death due to blood loss even before being rushed to surgery. The fact that two hours had since elapsed without any report of her death could only be a very good thing indeed; the surgeons must be winning the battle for her life.

How ironic that she had held up the blood bank of this very hospital such a very short while ago so that he himself would not bleed to death!

All in all, it had been, as Michael had said, a miracle that she had made it this far and without evidence of significant damage to the brain itself.

Michael had informed them that once the bleeding was contained and the sinus repaired, the surgeons would be better able to assess the damage to her brain and decide on their next course of action.

And so V had been tearing up the waiting room, constantly in motion; pacing everywhere and stopping only now and then to help Dominic comfort the two women.

The truth of the matter was that his mask and the face beneath it tended to lie as far as revealing his inner turmoil went: they were relatively inexpressive, making him appear calm, serene even. In point of fact he was perilously close to losing control.

He was a man used to taking action, but under these circumstances he felt more than at any other time as though he were back in his prison cell at Larkhill and he had nothing to do but wait for the next terrible thing to be revealed.

The waiting room door suddenly opened and Michael made an appearance, now dressed in surgical scrubs.

"She's alive," he said immediately so that the question didn't have to be asked.

They all crowded around him, but it was V he addressed directly, "The sinus is repaired and they've removed several large blood clots. The damage to her brain is minimal as far as they can tell; most done by bone fragments and the shock wave rather than the bullet itself."

"Then she'll live?" V asked.

"No one can say that for sure; a head injury is always life threatening. There could be sudden bleeding, or massive clots, swelling of the brain..." Michael put a hand on V's shoulder. "But right now it looks as good as it can be. I'm betting that she'll live."

Behind him the girls sobbed and hugged each other, apparently overcome at the good news.

"And her functionality?"he asked.

Michael shrugged. "It's both her right parietal and right temporal lobes that are affected. Some strange things can happen when those areas are damaged. We'll just have to wait and see."

"When can I see her?" he asked, his desperation becoming quite evident in his voice.

"She's gone up to N.I.C.U., where they're currently getting her situated. I can take you up in just a short while."

As relief flooded him, he seemed to lose all strength and collapsed into the nearest chair. It was Dominic who clutched his shoulder and kneaded it in a show of support.

"Thank-you, doctor, for everything," Dominic said, apparently taking it on himself to speak for him.

And for the first time, Michaels' face lost it's detached physician blankness, almost crumbling. "Please don't," he said softly. "I feel as though this is my fault. You see, Evey was staying with me at the time and I should have tried harder to talk her out of going to work. I should have stayed home or perhaps taken her somewhere for the day..."

"No Michael," V spoke up. "I don't think you've ever fully appreciated Evey's strength of resolve. Once she decided she was going to work, there was nothing you could have done to prevent her... short of locking her up, which as Dominic here would tell you, is against the law. You're not to blame."

* * *

A short while later Michael was leading him out of the lift on the fifth floor and down the corridor towards the N.I.C.U. 

"There are a few things you need to know," he said as they approached the unit. "First, she's in a drug-induced coma to help keep swelling and pressure in her brain to a minimum. She had a pressure gage inserted in her skull and that's why you'll see wires coming out from under the bandages. I doubt that they'' wean her off those drugs until the pressure shows signs of staying low and stable. Also, I don't think that I need to warn you that her face is very swollen right now and you probably won't recognize her."

V nodded. "I'd recognize her anywhere, no matter what," he breathed.

And then they were passing the nursing station, where many digital monitors chimed and binged while showing each patient's life readings. Two more steps and Michael motioned him to enter a doorway on the left.

In the center of the room was a hospital bed and in the center of that was a very slight form covered in blankets, bandages, tubes and wires. She was nearly surrounded by monitors and IV pumps as well as a respirator.

Rather than being cowed and approaching slowly as the usual visitor might, V glided quickly across the room and was instantly at her side, leaning over her and planting a quick kiss on her cheek. He hunted for her hand beneath the covers and then took it in his own while his other hand stroked the cheek he had kissed.

Her face was indeed hideously swollen and discolored, but he still knew her just as he'd known he would. She was the love of his life and he finally had a true appreciation for her own assertions that she saw him as he truly was, not as misfortune had remade him.

To him she was still the most beautiful woman in the world and always would be.

Behind him, he was aware of Michael leaving so that he could have some privacy.

He spoke to her, even though he had little hope that she could hear him, drugged as she was. "Evey, my little one," he said near her ear. "I'm here. I love you. You're going to live and you're going to be alright. Just sleep now. Rest and heal."

Planting another quick kiss on her cheek, he straightened up and left the room. There was little he could do here; she was very deeply asleep and would not miss his presence.

There was much he needed to do elsewhere before she awoke.

Just outside the door he was stopped by Evey's current nurse, who was standing behind the nursing station.

"Mr. Hammond?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"I've got your wife's things here." She held up a plastic bag. "I need for you to sign for them, if you don't mind."

He did just that and tucked the bag beneath his arm as he made his way down the hallway towards the elevators.

* * *

Eric Finch spent hours gathering evidence and statements, while staying in touch with Dominic, who kept him informed of Evey's status. He'd wrapped up for the night only moments before hearing that she had made it through surgery and was going to the intensive care ward. After that he was in his car and on the way. 

Now, finally at hospital, he exited the elevators on the fifth floor and had barely taken three steps when he saw V turn away from the nursing station and head in his direction.

He stopped where he was and waited, speaking only as V stopped next to him.

"How is she?"

V sighed. "Alive, stable for now and very deeply asleep. They'll keep her that way for a while. What news? Any leads? Anything of interest?"

"The filthy bloke who pulled this didn't just tell Audrey he was me, the video surveillance shows a man, who from a distance could be me." He pounded hid fist on the wall. "This is just too much," he growled in a barely controlled voice. "We have to find these bastards soon, somehow..."

V sighed. "Oh, I agree whole heartedly, Inspector," he said. "But let me add that I fear it isn't safe for any of us on our own right now, especially you and Evey. They'll be wanting to finish her off to send me a clear message and as for you..."

"Oh you don't have to tell me," he finished. "They sure as hell don't want someone on the inside using his resources to ferret them out. As for Evey, I've already asked Dominic to arrange a round the clock guard for her."

"Thank-you," V replied, then leaned closer and whispered, " May I ask; does Detective Stone have a family?"

"No, he's single. His wife took off on him, same as mine. Do you think he's also in danger?"

V's head tilted. "I think it would be best if both of you stayed with me for a time. Besides, I've got the best security in place."

"Yes, I think you've got a good idea there," he said after a moment's thought. "Give me a moment to talk to Dom, then I'll give you a ride home."

V nodded. "I'll be downstairs in the waiting room talking to Martha and Audrey."

"And I'll arrange for officers to escort them home," he added, then watched the other man walk past the elevators and enter the stairwell instead.

* * *

"Why are we stopping here?" V asked when Finch pulled to the curb on New Oxford Street. 

"Got anything in your fridge?" he asked.

"Actually, now that you mention it, not much," the man answered.

"I thought we could pick up something to eat as none of us has had a bite all night."

"You're my guests, please allow me to pay," V insisted.

Finch exited the car. "All right, but only if you're willing to go for Chinese." He thought he saw the other man shudder, but V agreed readily enough.

Together they headed for the restaurant door.

An hour later they were all eating out of the take-out boxes while gathered around V's computers in the downstairs lab/workout room of the flat.

"This is unbelievable," Finch breathed as V showed them yet another way to hack into Scotland Yard's computer network. "I've been told that we have some of the tightest network security in the world. However did you accomplish this? Do you have someone on the inside?"

"Only you two," V laughed. "Seriously, though; security of the network is only as good as the security of the building that houses it. And I have ways around most building security systems."

"Obviously!" Dominic exclaimed dryly.

"Let me leave you two to it then while I take care of a few things," V said, coming to his feet. "I won't be but a few minutes."

Leaving the room, he took the stairs up to the living area and tossed his empty food container in the trash. The steamed dumplings hadn't been bad; Finch's food recommendation had suited him well.

Moving down the hall to the bedroom, he threw the bag with Evey's things on the bed and emptied his pockets onto the dresser. He turned around to pick up the bag and froze as Evey's Guy Fawkes pendant stared up at him, twinkling in the dim light, having apparently been jostled from the bag onto the bed when he'd tossed it. He picked it up and stared wistfully at it, then collapsed into a seated position on the bed as the full magnitude of that day finally hit him.

The pendant dangled from his fingers as he dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. She had to live; had to recover... If she didn't, then he would see to it that those responsible suffered greatly before dying... just before he followed them down into the darkness.

It took him a good ten minutes to regain any control.

* * *

"Anything new?" 

Finch turned away from the computer at the sound of V's voice and nearly jumped when he saw him again dressed as the masked vigilante who'd haunted him for over a year.

"Jeez!" Dominic exclaimed for both of them, choking on his food when he caught sight of him.

"Going out are we?" Finch asked, a smirk on his face.

"Oh yes." He approached the monitor and peered at the screen. "Well? Anything?"

"Actually the Inspector stumbled upon something of great interest," Dominic sputtered, still trying to clear his airway.

The Inspector pushed his chair back and looked up at him. "You remember our good friend, Roger Dascombe?"

Under his mask he frowned. "Sutler's head of information; how could I possibly forget him?"

Finch steepled his fingers on one of his legs. When he spoke, his voice was low, his words chosen carefully. "There was always something about his demeanor that struck me as very wrong."

"Now, understand that only two people had a constant direct line to Sutler, and they were Creedy and Dascombe. I daresay that you got to know Creedy even better than I did near the end, and we both know the kind of man he was; fearless, ambitious and completely amoral. Yet, even he spoke to and treated Sutler with a constant respect, even appearing cowed on those occasions when Sutler took him to task."

"But Dascombe never showed any real fear of Sutler, even going so far as to get cheeky with him, more than once in front of others. You remember one such incident, don't you, Dominic?"

Dominic looked up at him. "It was the day you broke into the BTN. Sutler was on the phone with him and apparently trying to blame your country-wide broadcast's high ratings on Dascombe. Roger immediately yelled at him, telling him that it had been his insistence on having all the televisions wired in that had caused the problem. I almost fell over when I heard that!"

Finch nodded. "And that's not all. Sutler never gave Roger orders. He'd request things here and there, phrasing it as 'I'd like this" and "I'd like that'. He never demanded and in fact, Dascombe was pretty much left to his own devices."

"I'd say that you've stumbled upon something of great significance," he said, when Finch stopped speaking and stared at him. "Yet, I've the feeling that you've more to share with me with regards to Dascombe."

The Inspector nodded his head. "When poor Gordon Dietrich decided to throw out his script and air his now infamous 'Sutler episode', it was Roger who phoned Creedy directly, not Sutler. I've heard that by the time Sutler contacted Dascombe, his reply was that the problem had already been taken care of."

"So then, Dascombe ordered Dietrich's arrest? Dascombe issued the order and Creedy followed it?" V asked, somehow keeping his voice even despite his growing anger.

"Worst than that;" Finch replied. "He's the one who told Creedy about the secret room and the Koran. He pretty much issued Dietrich's death warrant himself."

V stared at him, unable to even speak.

Dominic nodded sympathetically. "And what we've always wondered was; how did Roger know about Gordon Dietrich's secret room?"

"You know now, don't you?" V asked Finch.

The Inspector nodded, then stood up and began to pace around them. "I was investigating your background for you, beginning with a computer search of anyone in government whose first name is Giselle." He stopped pacing and stared at him. "I found her. She's remarried and her name is now Giselle Dascombe."

"Dear lord..." V breathed, feeling suddenly dizzy as so very many pieces of the puzzle began to come together. The man he had seen with Giselle on the street had to have been Dascombe, whom he'd never seen in person. "Giselle would, of course, know about her brother's secret room," he surmised.

Dominic stood up then. "Tell him the rest, Inspector."

Finch collapsed into his chair. "Dascombe, as the head of the BTN, was never thought of as part of Sutler's regime. Therefore he was never indicted on any charges nor driven out of the political circles he traveled in. Though he's no longer head of BTN, he and Giselle are both listed as members of different Government Departments."

"Get this; Giselle Dascombe is a member of the newly reformed DCA!" Dominic relayed with relish.

V was stunned. "The Department for Constitutional Affairs?"

"The very same; one of the Ministerial Departments," Finch replied. "And Roger Dascombe is a member of the DCMS."

"The Department for Culture, Media and Sport," V hissed. "That would give him inside information on what was going on at the British Museum."

"Yeah. I'm afraid so," Finch sighed.

"So then it's a fair bet that's how he first picked up on the connection between Evey, yourself and me," he sighed.

Finch nodded. "Yeah."

"It seems a certainty that they're both members of the elusive Puppet Masters," he stated.

"I'd put money on it," Dominic said.

The terrible anger that had been raging within him since Evey had been shot began to burn up to a white hot fury. Although he tried to remain outwardly calm, the more he thought about Giselle's betrayal of himself and her brother, as well as the Dascombes' part in the whole thing, the more he began to shake. And his furious tremors did not go unnoticed by the other two men.

"We're all murderously angry," Finch suddenly warned. "But we have to bury our anger long enough to do this right: we don't want any of the guilty warned by one of your vendettas. We can't afford to have any of them slip away and start this whole business over again!"

"He's right," Dominic stated. "We have to find out who all the members of the P.M. are and take them all out."

"You mean arrest them," V sneered.

"No, I mean take them OUT," Lieutenant Stone clarified. "There aren't any courts around right now that we can trust to see justice done!"

V was stunned, remembering a time not that long ago when he had said almost the same thing to Evey. He addressed the Inspector, "And do you feel the same?"

Finch sighed. "There is no other way. In this case we must decide who we can trust to the judicial system and who will have to be... dealt with before that even becomes an option."

Turning back to the computer, V nodded, his respect for the two of them growing. "Show me everything else you have and bring up a map to the Dascombes' residence. I'll be out watching them the rest of the night."

* * *

Three hours later the skies over London opened up sending down a deluge of mixed rain and sleet. V huddled closer to the building he hid against, but the wind up on the ledge was violent, blowing the cold wet precipitation upwards as well as sideways. 

He was drenched through and through and rapidly losing body heat, but he was damned if he would give up his post a minute sooner than he had to.

Pulling his cloak more tightly around himself, he curled up as compactly as he could and gritted his teeth to help stop their chattering. His muscles were capable of generating more heat than the average human's but if something didn't shake loose soon...

He'd already placed bugs on both the cars in the garage; bugs he himself had engineered and which would elude all but the most sophisticated detection devices. Back at his flat both Finch and Stone would be monitoring their locations.

V also had a two way radio device handy should they need to contact each other for any reason.

The wind whipped up furiously again and for once he was grateful for his mask and the protection it afforded from the sleet. "Damn!"he breathed as the gust caused him to shiver more violently.

His thoughts turned to Evey and to memories of a wonderful night spent at her old flat, but those memories couldn't keep him warm as they were quickly overshadowed by visions of her in her hospital bed. There was no way he would be leaving his post, even if he had to break into the building he perched upon to continue his surveillance from inside.

Fifteen minutes later, his agony was rewarded when he saw the Dascombes' driver emerge from the side door of the residence and move into the garage. In moments he had pulled the expensive black Rolls Royce up in front of the home.

V immediately came to his feet and contacted Finch. "Inspector?"

"What have you got?"

"Looks like someone is about to take a trip. Guide me to them, will you?"

"Will do. Are you walking or taking that clunky BFC van of yours?"

"Given the weather, let's assume they're traveling a goodly distance; I'll take the van," he replied as he began to shiver more violently.

"I've got the tracker up on the screen. You can get back to the van whenever," Finch informed him.

V watched as the front door opened and the man he now knew was Roger Dascombe led Giselle out while holding an umbrella over them both. In seconds they were in the car and pulling away.

He made a dash for the van, which was on a side street a block up.

* * *

It took him fifteen minutes with Finch guiding him to arrive at the current location of the car. He had to admit some surprise at finding himself in a posh Hyde Park subdivision, driving past a very expensive looking townhome. That surprise had nothing to do with the people involved being wealthy; oh no, he pretty much expected that. It had to do with them choosing to meet here and not in some back street nondescript building. 

After driving the van around the block a time or two, he found a safe place to park it where he could remain hidden in the back and still keep an eye on the building in question.

Perhaps tonight's vigil had led him to nothing more than a social visit...

He had to revise that thought when no less than eight other individuals arrived in the course of the next ten minutes. As each arrived, he snapped their digital photo using a state-of-the-art government issue camera he had liberated from a Fingerman not all that long ago, then transmitted it to Finch.

He could make out nothing that was occurring within the residence as all the curtains had been pulled and some strong scrambling device was being used to prevent eavesdropping.

Whatever was afoot within continued until the wee hours of the morning, when the guests finally exited and went their separate ways. As Finch hadn't yet identified any of the men he'd seen, he had no idea who best to follow at that point and so he remained outside the residence in case anything else of interest transpired.

Finch informed him that the Dascombes had apparently gone straight home and by an hour later he'd had enough. He checked in with Finch and then headed back home.

* * *

Finch was kind enough to deactivate the alarm and let him in the back door, sparing him the need to do so himself. Good thing, too; his fingers were completely numb from the cold. 

"Good God man, you'd better go get dried up before you freeze to death," the Inspector exclaimed, seeming truly concerned.

V looked around. "Where's your Lieutenant?"

"Dominic's sleeping in your study upstairs," the man answered. "Go on, I'll lock up and get your fireplace going for you. Then you can tell me what you've learned."

"We can talk as I dry off," he replied. "I'd be very grateful for that fire, but first things first; What's the news on Evey?

"They say that the pressure in her skull is dropping steadily and she's no longer showing any evidence of bleeding. If it continues, they'll start cutting back on her drugs tomorrow morning."

He nodded, feeling some of his stress dissipate at the good news.

Finch reactivated the alarm system as V quickly walked through the downstairs and took the stairs up to his living area.

Distracted by thoughts of Evey, he didn't bother closing doors behind him, but moved into the bathroom, stripped and threw his soaked garments in the tub. Then he carried his knife belt into the bedroom and switched to a dry mask and wig. He was rummaging for clean clothes when the Inspector turned up.

Finch stopped in the doorway when he noted that he was naked, but he didn't seem either embarrassed or shocked by the sight that met his eyes. Too many years sharing showers and lockers at police headquarters, V surmised.

"Jeezus," the Inspector finally breathed, as V pulled on a pair of hunter green pajama bottoms. "However did you survive that?"

V knew he was referring to the burn scars which covered so much of his body. "I survived because I had no choice," he replied. "It would have been a blessing to have just given in to it; to have died, but then there would have been no one left to see justice done."

"I read Delia's diary," Finch admitted.

"As I had meant you to," he reminded, pulling on his heavy, black bathrobe.

"I didn't sleep well for days afterwards. She seemed like such a nice woman... I almost couldn't believe the things she did, that she allowed to happen..." Finch said softly, sadly.

"What you read in her diary dealt only with the evil deeds Delia knew about," he answered. "The things hat happened there, which she knew nothing of... were truly the stuff of horror stories. These outward scars are nothing compared to the inner damage I suffered while I was incarcerated there."

"Lilliman and Prothero?" the Inspector asked.

"Oh yes, they were bad, but those little men and women who served them were far worse. Having no true power in the outside world, they relished the opportunity to show the prisoners who was in charge." Disgusted, nauseated by the memories it stirred within him, he forced himself to take a deep breath and change the subject. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked, heading for the kitchen.

Finch nodded. "I would appreciate it."

Once in the kitchen, V put the kettle on and pulled two cups out of the cupboard. He proceeded to set the table complete with placemats, linen napkins and almost anything a person might like with their tea, including biscuits, scones, jam and Devenshire cream.

As he went about making his guest feel appreciated, Finch sat silently in one of the chairs and watched him with some amusement. Only when the table setting was completed did he finally speak up.

"There really was no need to go to so much trouble," he protested half-heartedly.

"Nonsense, Inspector," V protested. "We've both put in a very difficult day, we're exhausted and I daresay we deserve this. And then again, we could probably do with a little chat over our tea as well, don't you think?"

"Eric," the inspector corrected. "Please call me Eric and yes, I do agree that we deserve a bit of a pampering." He sighed. "Usually I go home and just drink a solo glass of whiskey. This is much nicer."

V nodded and retrieving the kettle, which had just begun to whistle, poured the boiling water into the teapot on the table. "Please help yourself while the tea steeps," he said. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Finch laughed. "I think you've covered just about anything I might want."

"Excuse me a moment," he breathed, then left he kitchen and headed back to the bedroom. He had only just realized that he couldn't eat without removing his mask. The time he'd spent with Evey had certainly changed him tremendously if he was able to forget such a thing even for a shot while. In the bedroom, he removed his mask and donned a black scarf, which he tied loosely enough to enable him to eat with it on. Then he returned to the kitchen.

Finch nodded as though he weren't in the least bit surprised by the scarf and then poured the tea himself.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking over the details of V's evening observations. It seemed that they had confirmed at least ten members of the P.M. Group plus the owner of the residence where the meeting had taken place. It was late and tomorrow Finch would begin identifying all those involved. Together they would continue to gather as much evidence on each as possible. It was important that every member be identified and eliminated one way or another.

One of the biggest questions was who the leaders of the group were.

* * *

The following morning V awoke to the sound of the teakettle whistling. He was sprawled out face down on the mattress, his arms flung wide in his usual sleep position these days. 

It had taken years to recover from the tendency to stay huddled in a tight ball; the only position that retained warmth when one had to sleep on cold, damp cell floors. Yet, once he had gotten over that habit it was as though he reveled in sprawling.

Then again, his muscles were always restless and Evey'd told him on several occasions that when he wasn't deeply asleep, he moved around quite a bit. Lifting his head, he looked at the clock, which showed the time to be nearly eleven.

With a groan, he climbed from the bed. He was still tired. Far too much had happened in the last few days to allow him to enjoy any truly restful sleep.

Rubbing his hands briskly over the scars on his head, he leaned backward, stretching his back, reveling in the feeling. Then he straightened, scratched his chest, which was somewhat itchy and pulled on his robe, wig and a scarf.

Slipping on his house shoes so that his melted and merged toes wouldn't be visible to his guests, he made a quick stop at the bathroom before greeting Finch and Stone, who were seated at the table having tea with their toast and fried eggs.

Finch immediately stood up and moved to the stove. "I'm cooking this morning," he said, shaking the spatula at him and making it clear that he would brook no argument. "How do you want your eggs?"

* * *

After Dominic had left for the day and V returned to the kitchen after resetting the alarm system, Eric Finch placed his empty teacup back on it's saucer and sat back in his chair. Fixing the man in front of him with a sympathetic look he asked, "So then; do you want me to tell you what I know about your past now or would you rather wait?" 

V took a seat and poured himself a last cup of tea as he considered the question.

"If you knew this information, then why didn't you offer it up last night?"

Finch shrugged. "I wanted you to get some sleep."

He couldn't help but chuckle at the look the Inspector gave him as he said it. "Indeed," he finally agreed. "Yes, I think I'd like to know now, but only the barest outline, if you don't mind."

Eric nodded. "Miss Giselle Dietrich married her first husband, a literary junior professor and columnist when she was twenty five years of age. The marriage lasted two years, ending with his death in an auto accident. Alcohol was later found to be a factor."

Finch paused and scooted his chair close to V's, then placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "What I've just told you is the sum total of your existence," he sighed. "I found it in a nebulous old publication which contained an interview with her. There are no other surviving records of you; no marriage records, birth records, death certificates... nothing."

He took a deep breath. "You've been completely erased, so unless there is someone out there who still remembers you..."

"I don't exist," V breathed.

"And unfortunately, I've seen this happen before; in Ireland after the reclamation," Finch said, his voice threatening to break. "And when they felt the need to make someone vanish without any trace, they made certain their entire family and all their friends dropped off the face of the earth as well."

"I daresay that there's at least one person left alive who can tell me the full story," he growled.

"Yes," Finch replied. "Giselle Dascombe."

* * *

Impeccably groomed and dressed, his false face in place, V stopped at the nursing station just outside Evey's room before entering. The clock on the wall showed it to be slightly after one in the afternoon. 

Her current nurse; Jennifer Douglas, updated him on Evey's condition. She was stable, slowly coming out of her drug induced coma and even beginning to fight the respirator; taking spontaneous breaths on her own.

"Any idea when she might awaken?" he asked.

The nurse shrugged. "It could be hours, days... or perhaps never," she said sympathetically. "I don't want to give you false expectations. You have to understand that no two people's brains are mapped the same way. There's no way to tell what Evey will do until she does it."

He thanked her then approached the door to his beloved's room. The guard on duty recognized him, nodded and moved down the hall a way to give him some privacy.

Approaching the bed, he looked her over carefully and found her much improved. Quite a bit of the swelling in her face had gone, although the bruising had become a darker, ghastly greenish-black color.

He found her hand under the covers and brought it out, kissing it gently then holding it in his own. It appeared so delicate, so pale and small in his own large, gloved hand.

Then he leaned over her and kissed her cheek, whispering sweet things against her ear. He poured his heart out to her, begged her to be well and come back to him.

"I miss you so, my love," he breathed. "Don't leave me. Please don't..."

Just then her chest heaved and the respirator beeped loudly, startling him. Looking at the readouts above her head he understood that she had just taken a breath on her own, a deep one that overrode the machine.

"Had she heard him?"

Pulling a chair over, he sat right next to the bed and leaned over her. Resting his head on her shoulder, he continued to hold her hand and whisper to her.

* * *

"Inspector?" 

"What do you have, Dominic?" Finch asked, putting down his sandwich and heading for the door.

They were using V's two-way communication devices, which he claimed could not be intercepted by any government surveillance devices. Dominic had donned street clothes and was watching the Hyde Park residence that V had covered last night. He himself had gone in to work, but was now at a nearby restaurant on break.

"You're not going to believe who just went inside," Dom breathed, then added, "Miller and Campbell!"

"What? Are you certain?" Finch was shocked. He had expected there to be several P.M. members at the Yard, but he never would have guessed that they were two of his men, let alone those two.

"Yes, unfortunately I am certain, Lieutenant Stone answered. "They're supposed to be on duty, aren't they?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. They were out looking into the Barker case," he replied. "Look, when they come out, tail them. Let's see if they visit anyone else of interest, shall we?"

"Oh, I most certainly will stick to them like glue," Dominic answered. "Later then."

"Be careful," was his final comment before storing the device in his jacket and heading back inside.

* * *

V left Hospital a little after three and stopped at a nearby market for groceries. 

He was feeling a bit better after seeing Evey and assuring himself that she was indeed improving. It was the waiting to see if she'd suffered significant damage that was now the major stress on him. As for her attackers; he was certain that they would be identified and then he'd deal with them.

After finishing his shopping, he hailed a cab and was nearly back to the flat when Finch contacted him on his communicator device.

"What have you discovered?" he answered.

"A thing or two of interest," Finch answered, but I can't talk right now. Can you come round to my flat tonight for dinner? I think it would be prudent to switch locations."

V looked down at his bags of groceries. "I understand your concern, Eric, but it really would be safest to continue on at my flat. We don't want people in the apartments adjacent to yours accidentally taking stray bullets and I cannot place any real security around us there."

"Don't you think there's a greater danger of drawing their attention to ourselves if we keep coming around to your place?"

V paid the cabbie, retrieved his bags and exited the taxi. "My good man, they've already been watching us. In fact, I passed right by one of their spies on my way in last night. I could easily have killed him, but I wanted them to think us unaware of the surveillance, so I dropped a bug on him instead and then looped around and came in from another direction."

"So I take it that you have some plan involving this surveillance?" Finch asked.

"Oh yes. I'll tell you all about it over dinner," he said merrily. "By the way, please bring an extra set of clothing and have Dominic do the same."

"I take it we'll get an explanation for that as well?"

"Indeed, Eric, you most certainly will."

* * *

Dr. Michael Cahill was sitting next to Evey's bed when her eyes began to flutter and open. He instantly pushed the call button and asked for her nurse to come in, then took Evey's hand and called her name. 

"She's waking," he told the nurse as she appeared at the bedside.

RN Jennifer Douglas then mashed the call button herself. "Debra," she said to the secretary who answered. "Page Dr. Weiburg and tell him that Miss Hammond is coming out of it."

* * *

By the time V let Dominic and Finch into the flat, the table was set and he'd already nearly completed cooking their dinner. The time was shortly after six thirty. 

Upon arriving home, he'd thoroughly checked the place out and made a few adjustments to his security devices. All the shades and curtains were pulled and the lights were down low.

Dominic sniffed the air. "Smells great!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

"Roast beef with Yorkshire Pudding and winter vegetables," he answered.

"Didn't know you could cook," Finch said, then added in a teasing manner, "I guess that makes one reason why Evey's so stuck on you."

V sniffed as though insulted, which made the two policemen laugh and then led them up the stairs.

* * *

Michael Cahill and Nurse Douglas leaned over the bed and watched as Evey's eyes opened for longer and longer periods of time. All the while Michael kept talking to her, telling her that all was well and encouraging her to look at him. 

And there was a moment where her eyes actually focused, her body tensed up, and those eyes shifted from his face to the RN's and then to the doorway beyond.

Somehow he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was searching for someone who wasn't there and he knew who it had to be.

That was all right with him, because it meant that Evey would probably be just fine, that the damage she had taken wasn't severe.

Her neurologist, Peter Weiburg, suddenly appeared next to them.

"Evey, my name is Dr. Peter Weiburg," he explained. "I'm a neurologist at Hospital. "You're in the intensive care ward, where we've kept you for a day. You can't talk right now because we have a tube down your throat, but we're going to take that out right now, OK?"

Amazingly, Evey nodded.

Weiburg turned towards nurse Douglas, who was already removing sterile gauze and supplies from a drawer she had unlocked. "Let's do this."

The nurse carefully peeled the tape away from Evey's face and made certain that the intubation tubing was no longer attached to her in any way. As the doctor grasped the tuning, she leaned in close and spoke loudly to her patient, "Evey, I want you to take a deep breath for me and then on the count of three I want you to exhale very strongly, all right?"

Again Evey nodded, he eyes never leaving the nurse, who began the count.

On three, Dr. Weiburg quickly and smoothly pulled the tubing from Evey's throat.

She gurgled, then sputtered and coughed strongly.

"Take some deep breaths," the nurse instructed. "Cough if you can. Here's a tray if you need to spit."

After a few minutes of clearing her airway, Evey finally seemed to be breathing easier and subsided weakly against the pillows while the doctor checked her eyes and put her through a series of tests.

He asked her to move her hands, her feet, to squeeze his fingers and finally began asking her questions, beginning with her name.

"Evey Hammond," she managed to croak.

"Where do you live, Evey?"

"The Shadow Gallery," she answered weakly, drawing puzzled looks from the medical staff.

"I can vouch that her answer is correct," Michael spoke up.

"And who is this man?" Weiburg asked her next, indicating Michael.

"My friend," she answered.

"What's his name?"

Evey looked puzzled, then alarmed.

"It's all right," Dr. Weiburg calmed her. "You've been hurt and some things; names, memories, may take a while to return. Don't fret over it. You're very lucky to be with us and it's a small miracle that you seem to be none the worse for your ordeal."

"What happened to me?" she croaked.

Michael stepped up. "Do you remember where you work?" he asked.

"The Museum."

"Do you remember packing a crate with Martha?"

She shook her head no and looked upset again as more memories eluded her.

Michael took her hand and soothed her. "It's OK," he said. "I'll explain anything you want to know after you've rested for a bit. But the answer to you question is that you were shot, Evey. That's why you've got bandages on your head."

She digested that for a while, then lifted her hand towards her head. "I was shot?" she asked.

Michael nodded.

"In the head?"

Again he nodded.

"Where's V?" she asked as her face crumbled.

And then Evey began to cry inconsolably, despite Michael's assurances that they were calling V to tell him she was awake.

"Sedate her," the doctor ordered, then told nurse Douglas what to give and how much.

* * *

After eating, Finch and Dominic filled V in on the information they had gathered that day. 

Finch watched as the man cleaned off the table and brought over a tray of fruit and cheese as well as a bottle of Port. After pouring up three small glasses, he sat down with them.

"We now have a list of ten people who we strongly believe are involved with the PM," he said, sipping his wine. "While I checked up on a few of them via the computer, mostly I stayed at the Yard to help keep suspicions down. Everyone was told that Dom had the day off, but in fact he was staking out the Hyde Park residence you were led to last night."

"And it payed off all right," Dominic said. "We'd been afraid of moles in the department, but we were both shocked when two of them turned out to be men in our own division."

"Men who work for me," Finch added. "Bastards were selling out the lot of us behind our backs, whilst attending family get-togethers and acting like our friends..."

"And what specifically do they do for you?" V asked.

"They're part of our bomb squad."

There was silence around the table then which lasted until V put his glass down with an audible thump.

"Christ!" Finch swore. "I hadn't even thought of... You don't think...?"

"Yes, I do," V growled, coming to his feet.

Just then the phone rang and the three of them looked at it for a second as though it were a snake, then V sprang forward in a blur as he realized it might be about Evey.

Finch stared at Dominic, still sick over the idea that he had overlooked the obvious. "Come on," he said. "Let's go downstairs to the computer."

They had just risen when they heard V exclaim, "She's awake? Already?" They stopped and waited.

"They say she seems to be fine!" he told them, happily before turning back to the phone. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he said to the person on the other end. "But I have something of a big problem here and it may be a few hours... Oh, you've sedated her? If she awakens before I arrive tell her I'm on my way. Thank-you."

V clicked the phone off and put it down, then leaned heavily on the counter top as relief flooded him. After a moment he straightened up. "Did you bring the spare clothing I asked you to?"

They each nodded. "Good. Lets get going."

"What exactly are we doing?" Dominic asked.

"We were going to go check the computer inventory of our seized items," Finch added.

"No," V replied, leading the way back to the bedroom. "That will take too much precious time and the records will be of little value; you've no way of knowing if they were accurate to begin with."

He paused outside the bedroom door, which was closed. "I think I can speak with a fair amount of certainty when I say that your moles have probably been busy slowly moving explosives from your lockup to another place in the building; say the basement. I take it that your main offices are housed in that very same building?"

Finch grimaced. "I'm afraid so."

"Then there really is no time to lose. I'll be going in and you two will have to guide me." V opened the door and gestured to three mannequins that were laying on the bed. "In the meantime, each of you please grab one of these and bring it back into the dining area."

Finch exchanged looks with Dominic.

"He's completely daft!" his lieutenant breathed.

* * *

**Next time: Chapter 4b: Retribution: Death**

**APPENDIX: **

N.I.C.U. : Neurological Intensive Care Unit

RN : Registered Nurse.

PM : Puppet Masters (a name made up by Finch, referring to a covert organization)


	5. Retribution: Death

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes: **This story is** rated R,** overall for some adult content. **The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage.** As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 4b: Retribution: Death**

Eric Finch sat in the back of V's BFC truck and stared at the monitors that covered one entire side of the cleverly disguised surveillance van.

Only hours ago he and Dominic had been briefed by V on what they were about to do; namely entering the lowest levels of the Belgravia Police Station on Buckingham Palace Rd. without anyone being the wiser. If that sounded difficult, V soon made it that much more anxiety-provoking when he explained how the security cameras would have to be rigged.

"Now then," he had started off. "We can't just go poking our heads in for a look-see without first ensuring that we ourselves go unseen."

He'd typed a few commands into his computer at the flat and instantly began bringing up real time pictures from the cameras in question.

"Is that...?" Finch had begun to ask.

"Oh yes," V had answered. "It's from your place of employment. You didn't think I'd be turning a blind eye to you and yours back when I was completing my November fifth preparations, did you?"

"We're going to use this footage to replace the real camera feed, aren't we?" Dominic had asked. At Finch's questioning look he'd replied, "I've seen enough movies to know it's a good way around our problem."

V cleared his throat. "Tell me, Detective Stone; do you see any explosives on any of these images?"

"Bloody hell," Finch had suddenly breathed. "If there are explosives in place, then the people responsible will have already thought of that and bypassed the real camera images!"

"Exactly."

"So then, what do we do?" Dominic had asked.

"Simple. We bypass the actual camera feed that our nemesis is using so that they don't see us. In order to do that, I'll have to find where they tapped into the system and piggyback their signal so that we can all see what's really happening. Then, provided none of them are present down below, we need to make a recording of the true scene, explosives and all... And I do expect to see explosives down there, I might add."

With a sigh he'd turned and faced them fully. "Then we by pass their bypass with our feed of the playback. Once everything seems secure, I'll go in and begin replacing their explosives."

"What?" both he and Dominic had exclaimed.

"Oh yes... I'll remove any live detonators first and replace them with harmless fakes. Then I shall away to a stockpile of mine and replace any and all of the explosive materials with cleverly done up fakes; and believe me, I've got plenty of those. I'm certain I can make the scene look exactly the way they left it."

"But why bother?" Finch had asked. "Why not just leave it alone with the safe detonators? And why would you have so many fakes?"

"You wouldn't believe how handy they come in," he'd answered. "I've used them as red herrings to tie up security. And I've broken into stockpiles and stolen them while leaving the fakes behind... It's allowed me to keep stealing from the same area for months before the theft was caught!" Then V had actually laughed. "As to why I would go to such trouble and risk such danger in order to replace this particular stockpile; explosives are never safe. Even with fake detonators, almost anything could happen. Besides; let's just say that I've a good use for all that juice..."

Finch and Dominic had stared at each other.

"Alright," said Dom. "But I'm going in with you. You'll need help moving so much in a short time."

"Excellent. I was hoping you'd volunteer," V had gushed, clasping his hands together with apparent glee. "I suppose that leaves you to man the monitors, my good Chief Inspector."

"Lovely," he'd responded dryly.

And now here he sat, parked down the street, on Sembley Place, off of Buckingham Rd, where he could keep an eye on two sides of the building. He had access to cameras covering the other two sides for good measure.

When all was said and done, he would have preferred to switch places with Dominic; this monitoring for danger was in his opinion much more nerve wracking then being around the actual explosives.

* * *

Down beneath the building, Dominic Stone was crawling on his belly through a very tight ventilation tunnel behind the vigilante known to the authorities only as Codename V.

A surge of excitement ran through him at the thought of what he was doing. How amazing to think that HE was helping V!

Of course, it was dangerous work, and difficult already; just keeping up with the man in these tight spaces was exhausting. How could he move gracefully, even in here? Come to think of it; they weren't going to move all those explosives through here, were they?

He swallowed nervously at the thought.

The passageway up ahead widened. He could tell only because both he and the mastermind up ahead of him were wearing torches on their heads. V had forgone his usual hat and had dual torches strapped on either side of his masked forehead.

Now that was a strange sight indeed!

V moved up to the metal grate blocking the end of the shaft and moved to one side, then waved for him to move up next to him.

"Turn out your torch first," he whispered, dosing his own lights.

Dominic shimmied up next to him and watched as the man produced a long, bendable tube from the folds of his cloak.

"It's a spy wand," V explained. In the next moment he had bent it and barely passed one end through the grating, then put his eye to the other end. "Hmmm..." he breathed, and then reversed the tubing so that he could look the other way.

"And there we have it," he sighed, passing the device to Dominic. "Have a look-see."

Putting his own eye to the device, Dominic fought down the urge to whistle. Lining the walls at the end of the large passageway, from floor to ceiling, were stacks upon stacks of explosives.

"Shit..." he breathed as his heart rate climbed further yet.

"Indeed," came his companion's reply. "And from the look of things, they may be done and ready to detonate; perhaps even this very night."

Really; how the man could say such a thing so calmly was a mystery. Dominic was about to wet himself over his statement!

Finches voice came over the earplugs they each wore, "What now? Continue or evacuate the building?"

The Guy Fawkes mask tilted in apparent thought. "They've just had a meeting," he said, knowing that the microphone inside his mask would carry his voice to Finch. "I doubt that they will detonate until after some sort of more grandiose affair. We should proceed as planned."

Then he looked over at him. "Dominic, you can still back out and help keep surveillance elsewhere if you wish. I won't expect you to risk your life given the circumstances."

"Like hell I will! I'm staying. Besides, you'll need me if you want to get this done faster," he replied.

V patted him on the shoulder. "Then let's get started."

Rolling over onto his back, V slowly sat up and, to Dominic's surprise, wiggled his way through an even tighter passageway that led straight upwards. He hadn't noticed it before because he never looked up and with their torches off, it was all but invisible anyway.

Above him, a glow appeared as V turned his lights back on. Dom could now make out his outline and stared in amazement as the man's feet left the ground and he began to climb up the shaft.

"How can you do that?" he asked, startled. "I hope you're not expecting me to follow..."

"It's all in the knees and toes," came the hushed reply. "And no; just stay where you are and keep an eye out that grate for me. I'm going up one floor to where the camera lines cross this shaft."

With a shake of his head, Dominic did just that.

* * *

It took V an hour of careful testing and feedback from Inspector Finch to be certain that he had recorded and then successfully looped that recording back on the video line the PM operatives were monitoring. He then took care not to disturb the phony loop they were broadcasting for the benefit of the building's security personnel and took over the true camera feed for himself.

By the time he dropped back down to the floor below, his knees were aching fiercely. No matter; he knew that they'd recover quickly enough.

Detective Stone looked up at him. "What next?" he asked.

"Now we replace the detonators," he replied. "Then we'll go back to the van for the fake explosives." As he spoke, he began working the grate loose by turning the back end of the retaining bolts with a set of large pliers.

"Is there another way in or are we going to make do with this crawlspace?"

"There is another way in, but I would have to rig the camera feed there before we could use it. It's not worth the time and effort, as it would be too easy to get caught at that location."

"Oh."

V smiled beneath his mask. "Relax, Detective," he said. "I'll do most of the hard work." Just then, the last bolt gave out and he was able to jiggle the grate free without making too much noise. He set it carefully on the floor so that it leaned against the outer wall.

"I can see that you've got the grate off," Finch commented via their earplugs.

"Is the outside of the building clear?" he asked.

"All clear."

"How about the stairwells and the main corridors leading to them?" he added.

"One moment..." There was a pause as Finch presumably toggled through different camera views. "Yes, there's no one about."

"Good." He turned towards Dominic. "Come on then; time's a wasting." Then he turned, crawled out into the corridor and headed for the explosives.

* * *

One-by-one, V and Dominic carefully replaced each detonator with a fake. They shad begun by each making a count of the devices and comparing them for accuracy. V had then counted out the same number of fake replacements and had him recount them.

As V removed each detonator, he handed it to him to be placed in a red bag. V would then replace it with a fake from his own black bag.

Afterwards, they each counted the removed detonators. In this way they made certain that not a one was missed.

Then came the real work.

Dominic would go to the van and have Finch hand down a stack of fake explosives which looked enough like the real ones to pass inspection should the perpetrator show up for some reason. He would then carry the heavy load back to the building, all the while fearing detection.

Meanwhile, V would remove the same number of real explosives from the pile in the building and drag them on small metal bearings down the shaft behind him. Once out of the shaft, he carried them to the entrance where Dom waited. They would then swap and backtrack to either van or basement.

It took many careful round trips totaling over four hours in order to accomplish their task. Several times they had to stop and hit the ground to avoid being spotted by a potential passerby as Finch sounded an alert. Fortunately in each case the person in question took a different route.

And after each stack in the basement was replaced, they would wait a few minutes to make certain that the men responsible were not about to make an appearance. If they did, then V would quickly clean up his area and duck back into the shaft, closing it behind him. That was the reason for the fake detonators; so that at any point, the pile of explosives would look untouched.

Early on Dominic had wondered aloud why they were going to the trouble of swapping out the detonators when they were going to swap out the explosives anyway. He'd been embarrassed that he hadn't reasoned it out himself when V explained.

Now he lay on the floor of the van, sweaty and exhausted with half frozen feet and hands from trudging back and forth through the snow all night.

"Here, drink this," Finch urged, squatting down next to him and handing him a steaming mug, which he had filled from a thermos.

Sitting up and sniffing it, Dom sipped the hot toddy with a sigh of pleasure. His aching muscles seemed to relax a bit.

"You've no idea how welcome this is," he remarked. "Thanks."

"You've more than earned it," Finch replied, patting him on the shoulder. Then the man looked at a monitor. "Come on then. Let's get this van started up. He's on his way back."

* * *

It was nearing five in the morning by the time Finch parked the van in its usual place several blocks away from V's new residence. They climbed out, locked it up and headed down the street behind the vigilante.

"You two stay here while I make certain that the place is safe," the masked man said, firmly pushing them back against the wall of the dark alley they'd been traversing.

Before Finch could ask any questions, he'd jumped up, grabbed onto an overhead fire escape and was rapidly climbing it.

There was little to do but exchange a look with Dominic, who merely shrugged as though he'd seen it all.

"I find it exhausting just watching him," his partner commented.

They stood there shivering but silent for five minutes before their new friend dropped down in front of them, enveloped in a flurry of black cloth.

"Well, I believe it's safe now," he commented. "But stay behind me. Several of my traps have apparently been set off and there's no telling how many of them are merely wounded."

"What; as opposed to dead?" Detective Stone asked in a shocked tone.

"Precisely!" V replied cheerily, then turned and led the way towards his flat.

They entered through the front entrance to the bookshop and made their way to the back stock room, where a destroyed loading dock door greeted them, its metal having been burned through with a welding torch. It had then been unlocked and lifted from the inside.

"Yes, I thought this would prove to be the entranceway of choice for nefarious visitors," the masked man stated as he surveyed the scene. Then he shrugged. "Their mistake," he added, then turned and headed for the door to his back foyer. That door was cut from the frame, its deadbolts too secure to have allowed it to be kicked in.

There was a dead man lying just on the other side of the open door that led to his workout area, his blood pooling on the rubber entranceway mat within.

"What did you..." Finch barely managed.

"Oh, just a few rigged statues," he replied. Stepping through here while the system is armed will result in them discharging their cleverly hidden guns. "Careful," he warned Dominic, throwing an arm up to block the man's way into the room. "It's still armed and there may be a few bullets left."

Reaching above the door jam, he pressed some concealed buttons and then nodded. "Follow me," he said, stepping over the dead man.

Aside from the dead man, there were no further signs of trouble in the large workout room, but when they reached the front foyer on the other side, there was another dead man laying at the foot of the stairs.

"Electrified hand rail and well-grounded stairs," V explained.

Finch and Dominic exchanged startled glances.

"I can't wait to see what was up with the mannequins," Stone quipped as they followed their host upstairs.

He soon had his answer. Four more men lay dead on the floor, scattered around the kitchen, dining and reception areas.

"What the bloody hell...?" Finch managed as he stared dumbfounded around him. There was no blood, no real indication of what had happened. The men were simply dead, their faces blue, their bodies contorted.

As Detective Stone reached for one of the mannequins, V yelled, "Don't!" causing him to freeze in place.

The mannequins in question were wearing their clothing and arranged exactly as they had left them, apparently passed out and leaning forwards on the table, surrounded by cards, poker chips and drinks.

The two policemen had been curious about it, but had received no explanation other than that all would be made clear soon enough.

Now V turned to face them and pointed at their doppelgangers.

"Now these are very clever, if I do say so myself," he began. "Each has a level sense in its head which I can set in almost any plane I please. Once armed, disturbing the mannequin's position results in a circuit being broken, which in turn results in two different liquids mixing together within." As he talked, he reached under each of their wigs and clicked off a switch hidden beneath.

"Poison gas, my friends," he explained. "Silent, odorless, invisible and very lethal."

Both Finch and Dominic lifted their hands to their mouth and noses, causing V to laugh.

"Don't worry, the toxin is also very short lived. It breaks down quickly and becomes harmless within thirty minutes."

"You are one crazy bastard," Finch ground out, glaring at him. "Anything could easily go wrong with that!"

"True enough, which is why I've only ever used them in extreme cases," V replied. "And I think that, looking around us, you would agree that this was an extreme case."

"Look, normally I'd be very disturbed by all this," Dominic cut in. "But I'm exhausted and in pain and just too weary to let it give me nightmares. So tell me; what do we do next?"

"Well, Lieutenant Stone, I suggest that you and Eric here get cleaned up, and get some sleep," he said. "As for myself;" he prodded one of the corpses with his boot. "I'll stow these away as I've a use for them later on, then I'll be cleaning up myself and visiting Evey. After that, I plan on catching some sleep. We can then discuss the next step in our campaign over a good meal."

"Right. I'm off to the shower then." Dominic turned and departed in the direction of the office.

Finch went after his overnight bag, which was in the reception room and watched in obvious discomfort as V threw a dead man over his shoulder and grabbing the other two by the collars, dragged them behind him down the stairs.

They made a most unpleasant thumping sound.

The chief Inspector swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat and went to hide in the office until Dominic finished with the bathroom.

* * *

After a much needed shower and a change of clothes, Eric brushed his teeth and headed back towards the front room, intent on hitting the sofa for some much needed sleep.

As he approached the dining area, he felt his eyes start from his head at the sight of V in a frilly apron washing down the dining room table and chairs. So surprised was he, that he froze in place and nearly dropped his toothbrush.

"Jeezus..." he breathed.

V looked up, but otherwise kept scrubbing. "Have to make certain that all the toxic residue is gone," he grunted.

"Well then, how do you explain that apron?" Finch groaned. "I think that may be the scariest thing I've seen in the last few hours. You look like something out of a Monty Python show. Let's face it; it's not exactly proper attire for a cultural icon such as yourself, now is it?"

V actually laughed at that. "I started wearing it when Evey first came to stay with me," he said, then suddenly grew serious. "It made me less frightening..." Going back to the kitchen, he threw out the sponge and then returned to the table and dropped limply into a chair.

Finch sat next to him. "It apparently worked quite well," he observed.

"Oh, not entirely," came the tired reply. "She ran off on me once, completely terrified by my personal vendetta, you know."

"Well, she returned, so it all worked out," he tried to comfort him.

The mask lifted and turned to regard him. "Not really... but that is, as they say, a story for another time." He stood. "Did you have a good shower? Is there anything I can get you?"

He stood as well. "I feel much better now, thank-you and I'm fine. Can't wait to hit that sofa of yours, in fact."

"Excellent. I'm off to clean up and go see Evey. I checked in on Dominic and he's out cold, bless him. He'll certainly be sore for the next few days."

"No doubt," he laughed.

"Oh, one more thing, Eric," V called after him as he started into the reception room.

"Hmmm?"

"Stay away from the stairs; I'll be rearming the security system before I head out."

* * *

"She's just come around, sir," one of the overnight nurses informed him when he stopped at the station. "She was asking for you only a few minutes ago. Why don't you go on in?"

"Thank-you," V murmured politely as he began to move off. It was just six in the morning and he'd only managed to catch a twenty minute catnap before heading to hospital. In truth he was exhausted, but worse yet; he was filled with an equal mix of hope and apprehension over Evey's condition. Michael had seemed put-out enough over her pining for him while unable to recall her doctor friend, but V wondered just how much she remembered. After all, their relationship was not exactly run-of-the-mill.

Having to start over from scratch would be... difficult, if not impossible for him.

As quietly as he could, he entered her room and moved towards the bed, trying to determine if she was awake.

Her eyes opened and her head turned towards him when he was but ten feet away...

He froze on the spot, suddenly holding his breath and silently willing her to recognize him.

When she remained silent, but watched him silently, he again moved forward, seating himself in the chair next to the bed and sighing deeply.

Still she watched him. "Do I know you?" she asked weakly, as curiosity seemed to light her eyes.

He moved the chair closer, then leaned his crossed arms on the edge of her bed, and rested his chin upon them, his face now mere inches from her own.

Their gazes locked...

She stared harder at him, shifting in the bed so she could better see him with both eyes.

"V?" she barely breathed the question.

He sighed deeply as relief washed over him and that small sound seemed to be enough to convince her.

"V!" This time she cried his name and tried to reach for him with weak and trembling arms. Her right one wasn't cooperating.

He wrapped his own around her as best he could and hugged her close, barely able to talk around the lump in his throat.

"Oh love," he said, his voice breaking, "You do remember me. I had so feared..."

She forced her trembling right hand up and placed her fingers on his lips. "I could never forget your voice... even your sigh, but I don't remember ever actually seeing your face..."

He kissed her fingers, and then took her hand in his own; pulling it away so that he could kiss her properly, which he did; gently, but with a great reluctance to end it.

And she, despite her injuries, responded instantly, sighing in disappointment when he broke away.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered. "But I was afraid that your heart monitor was about to alarm, your pulse rose so quickly." He smiled and carefully stroked her bandaged head. "Actually, this is not my true face, but a clever mask. I think, even addle-pated as you now are, that you know I wear my Fawkesian disguise for practical reasons."

She smiled back, then touched her bandages and looked puzzled. "I was shot," she said, as though just realizing it. "In my head. Did you know that?"

"Yes sweetheart." He continued to stroke her head and smiled at her.

She suddenly seemed to recover and sprang back to what he had last said, "That is a mask?"

"Yes."

She touched his cheek to convince herself. "It's very good. You used to look that way, didn't you?"

"I think so," he replied.

"V, I'm so confused. It's as though a whirlwind is constantly spinning my memories around. I catch quick glimpses, then there's just a jumble which makes me sick when I try to sort it out."

"I'm sorry love," he said, kissing her gently. "I know how terrible it can be, but maybe you'll be luckier than I and actually make some sense of it. In the meantime, don't try too hard; your memories will slowly sort themselves out."

Her eyes grew sadder still. "I can't even remember our wedding," she said, her voice nearly breaking.

He froze for a second or two, then laughed with much amusement.

"It isn't funny!" she moaned.

"And what makes you think I'd marry a troublesome little waif like you?" he teased, kissing her hand.

"Stop hurting my feelings, you big brute," she teased back. Then she suddenly became serious. "Are we not married? The nurses kept telling me that my husband would be here shortly..."

"That's because we have the same last name and Detective Finch told them I was your next of kin," he explained, trying not to laugh at the look on her face.

"The same last name? When did that happen?"

He lifted her hand to his lips again and then sighed. "Let me tell you a story about a lonely, driven man and the little, frightened waif who invaded his world..." he began. "But first... do you remember this?" He removed something from around his neck, pulling it from where it lay hidden in his shirt and handed it to her.

It was the pendant.

"You made it from the mask that went up with Parliament," she breathed. Her eyes began to tear up. "I remember... a room full of roses and candles... and you... Blue eyes. Nice smile." She smiled, her eyes unfocused and clearly seeing a memory. "You were wearing a red silk shirt and you loved me until I couldn't sit properly for days..."

He fought the tears that were filling his own eyes. "It seems that you remember all the important things then," he sighed.

"But I don't remember your face..."

"Love, as I said; you remembered the important things. Now then; once upon a time there lived a very smart and dapper gentleman with a terrible skin problem, who kept to himself for many years..." he began.

* * *

It was almost nine in the morning when Finch heard V come back in. He raised his head and watched as the exhausted man dropped his coat over a kitchen chair, drank a glass of water and then apparently, from the sound of it, stopped briefly to visit the loo. He then heard him head down the hall towards his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, hearing V's soft but persistent raspy snore, he got up and checked in on him. The man had collapsed on the bed and was sprawled on his stomach, his feet hanging over the edge. Eric removed his boots and threw a blanket over him before returning to the sofa and his own much needed rest.

* * *

Eileen Winters was in a hurry. She'd just spent far longer than she had wished at a posh specialty foods store looking for the last ingredients for the that night's meal. It was going past five and her employers always at dinner at seven sharp.

Although she'd been the Dascombes' cook for many years, she knew that she was always only one disappointment away from losing her job. She'd seen other long time employees dismissed for far less than a late or substandard meal.

Mr. Baker, who'd been their chauffeur for over three years, had been fired on the spot just two days ago for looking at Ms. Giselle "the wrong way" as she'd said.

Eileen clicked her tongue as she rushed in the back door of the Dascombe residence and began assembling all the items she needed. She washed her hands, got the oven warming up and began cutting up vegetables.

Yes, her job was high risk with little security, but it was otherwise worth it. Most of the time it was just her and the other employees in the house and they all got along quite well. She had a wonderful kitchen to work in and she was paid very well indeed to do something she loved; cooking. And although her employers weren't friendly, they did quite often praise her for the meals she set before them.

Speaking of "set", now that she had the vegetables taken care of and the meat marinading, she might as well set the table. It would take some time and it had to be perfect.

Moving to the Butler's pantry, she removed a stack of lovely linens, then selected an ornate vase for the centerpiece, which would be composed of the beautiful bouquet of flowers she'd picked up that morning.

As she left the small room, she passed by the entranceway to the formal dining room, but this time she glanced in as she did so.

She froze on the spot and blinked in disbelief.

The vase and linens slipped from her suddenly nerveless hands and the sound of the shattering vase was completely drowned out by her scream.

* * *

Eric Finch was up and about shortly before three that afternoon.

As he made his way down the hall towards the bathroom, he could plainly see that V was already up and about as well; his coat was missing from the dining room chair.

After taking care of the call of nature, he wandered down to the bedroom and peeked in.

V was indeed gone.

Next, he checked in on Dominic. The man was bedded down behind the desk in the small office. As he watched, his partner moved restlessly beneath the quilt he was using as a sleeping bag. He would, no doubt, be up and about in a short while.

It was when he entered the kitchen to start the kettle that he noticed the note on the countertop.

**My Dear Chief Inspector,**

**Please make yourself comfortable. There are scones in the icebox which only require baking. You'll also find Devonshire cream and an assortment of jams. I'll be back shortly with a take-out dinner, so try to leave some room.**

**Yours Sincerely,**

**V**

**PS – Would you mind getting up with the hospital and finding out how Evey is doing today? Let her know that I'll be stopping by quite late tonight.**

Eric shook his head and laughed. The man was incapable of leaving his welcome visitors wanting for anything.

When he opened the fridge and pulled out the scones, he found another note on them informing him of the proper oven temperature and baking time.

By the time Dominic put in an appearance twenty minutes later, he had their breakfast ready, much to the delight of his starving protégé.

* * *

V arrived back at the flat around four thirty.

He hoped that his guests were up and about, for he was in quite a rush. There was no telling when the Dascombe's cook would return to discover his gift, but things would move along quickly after that and he needed to be in place.

Carefully disarming the security measures, he climbed the stairs to find them both conferring over their notes and a laptop at the dining room table.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them and then lifted up the bag he carried. "Anyone for some Indian cuisine?"

"Despite the scones, I'm famished!" Dominic immediately began collecting his things and moving them to the floor at his feet.

"Ah, good. So you enjoyed them?"

"Yeah, who would have thought that the Inspector here could bake?"

Finch shot him a sour look and raised an eyebrow. "Well, thankfully I awoke first. We all know that Dom is incapable of following directions to the letter."

That one actually drew a chuckle from V, who was wasting no time in passing out plates and utensils.

After they'd finished eating and the table was cleared he began outlining his plan, beginning with the impromptu dinner party he'd set out in the Dascombes' dining room.

"Well, I'd say that's brilliant in a scary sort of way," Finch sighed.

"Yes, precisely what I thought," V responded. "And any time now, the Dascombes will be rushing home to sort things out. That's where I need the help only you, my dear Chief Inspector, can provide."

Finch perked up. "And what exactly might that entail?"

"I need for you to arrest Roger Dascombe at his home and delay him until I give the signal," he answered. "Do you think you can come up with a good reason to do so?"

Finch actually smiled. "Oh, I'll think of a reason. Believe me; it will be my pleasure to annoy him."

"Your goal is to make it look official and get him away from his chauffeur and anyone else, then hogtie him and store him in the van."

"You're joking! What happens when he's released..." Finch paused. "He's not going to live long enough to go to the authorities, is he?"

"Once again, detective; Do you think that justice will be served if you leave him to your courts? Certainly not until after we eradicate the organization that has control of them, the organization that he is a part of. Eric, this man tries to murder Evey. He was a part of it as surely as if he had pulled the trigger himself. If you cannot in good conscience do as I ask, then now is the time to say so."

Finch actually began biting a fingernail, but when he answered, it was with conviction. "No, you're correct, as much as it pains me. There's no other way to set things right... I'll do as you asked."

"Good man. As for me; I'm going to gain entry to the mansion where they all meet, which by-the-way, happens to be owned by Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales, Lord William Chambers**."**

Finch shot Dominic a look. "I thought you told him that?"

"Sorry," the lieutenant looked embarrassed. "In all the excitement I forget to let him know that we'd looked that up."

V sniffed reproachfully and then continued, "Once inside, I'll be deactivating all their counter measures, as well as planting my own bugs. By the time our traitorous friends call an emergency meeting, we'll be privy to all that transpires."

"What then?" Finch asked.

"Well, then I go visit Evey while you two put in an appearance at the Yard.

* * *

Giselle Dascombe stood in her dining room and stared at the sight before her.

First her dining room had been turned into the banquet hall of the dead and then Roger, their chauffeur and the car had gone missing.

There was only one being who could possibly be responsible

She'd been warned by the others not to retaliate against Ronald Scanlan's death. Most of them had concurred that the masked figure who'd killed him had to be the true, original vigilante known as V. It was all there in the police reports, they'd said; his knives, his strength... If it was truly HIM, then they would be foolish to harm his lover. A man who could take out Sutler, Creedy and his nine best, not to mention the others... was not someone whose attention you wished to draw.

She'd argued her point, though; if he took out Scanlan, then he already was on their trail. It was just a matter of time before they all met the same fate, one by one. Their only hope was to warn him off, to show their might, their knowledge of him and his. If he came after them, they would destroy him, starting with his friends and his home...

In the end, she'd pushed it through. They'd agreed to wound the Hammond bitch and leave her with a message for V...

But she'd changed the plan, making certain that Terrance knew he was to forget the message and kill Hammond, not wound her.

An eye for an eye, she figured. After all, this V was no supernatural creature. He was only a man and no man was infallible. Sooner or later he would have to sleep.. and then their assassins would finish him.

She snorted.

Their assassins now sat around her dining room table.

Roger was missing.

And she'd had to have the cook disposed of. Couldn't have her relaying any of this to anyone, after all. And damn it; she'd really liked that woman's cooking!

So, she'd made a mistake. She'd underestimated the man known as V...

Now she'd have to come up with a way to fix things, without the council finding out that she'd ordered Hammond killed and that was what had led to this.

Well, the ball was still in her court, whatever V might think. They had their explosives set under new Scotland Yard and Roger wasn't worth bargaining for, making him worthless as leverage, if that was what the vigilante intended.

Tonight they would call the meeting to end them all; the one that would bear witness to the beginning of their take-over. The Yard would be destroyed and along with it the last leaders of the fledgling government's enforcers.

As for V...

Well, Miss Hammond was still alive and therefore he could be controlled. All they had to do was take her.

Turning on her heel, she headed for the telephone.

* * *

At five fifty-five PM, an electrical failure affecting four blocks of a posh Hyde Park community occurred.

"Mr. Farnsworth!"

At the sound of his voice being bellowed, Jared Farnsworth, butler to the Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales, made a very quick appearance in the master's study.

"Sir?" His voice was perfectly pitched and calm, despite the anxiety that he was actually feeling. He knew what this was about; the generators hadn't come on as they should have. He'd been on the phone with the power company when he'd been summoned.

"Why is my house still dark?" Asked his employer, in his oh-so-controlled, but about-to-be-ugly voice.

"Sir, I've just spoken to the power company and was about to contact our generator people when you called. I'll have it taken care of as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime Nina is coming around with electric lanterns and will soon have this room lit."

"I want the power restored in the house within the hour or it will be your job; do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Then get on with it already!"

Fleeing the room, he dialed the generator company's emergency line and was connected to the service desk.

He gave the fellow who answered an earful and in return received a promise that a new unit would be arriving within the half hour.

* * *

Out in the BFC van, Dominic and Finch exchanged triumphant looks while a hogtied and gagged Roger Dascombe stared at them from the floor.

"Now that was good fun," Detective Stone said. "The man's brilliant, I tell you! I can't believe he took out the power to that many residences without getting himself fried."

"The real beauty of it is that by the time the electric company gets the power back on, V will already have the fake unit in place and all the surveillance countermeasures disabled," Eric Finch replied.

"So it really is him; the real V?" asked the woman seated beside Finch.

"It is indeed, my dear Eileen," he replied, giving the woman a warm smile.

He'd only just finished handing both Dascombe and his driver over to Dominic, when he'd seen the Dascombes' other Rolls drive by with the poor woman struggling in the back seat, smacking the glass to get his attention.

He'd immediately jumped into the car he'd just pulled Dascombe out of and given chase. Without giving the other driver any warning, he'd smashed into his rear fender during a turn, completely spinning the other vehicle around. Fortunately, he'd chosen his time well and no other cars were in the intersection or involved in his little maneuver.

Jumping out, he'd pulled his gun on the driver and front seat passenger, ending the kidnapping.

He'd had to call Dominic over with more handcuffs and then stashed the two of them in the trunk for now. Once V came to collect Roger and the excitement was over for the night, he could return for them and book them along with Roger's driver.

Detective Stone indicated Dascombe. "What about him?"

Finch reluctantly turned away from Ms. Winters to meet the man's frightened, wide-eyed stare. "V will be along to collect him soon enough. Aside from that, I don't want to know."

* * *

Jared Farnsworth noticed the "Start You Up" generator company truck as soon as it drove up. Truth was that he'd been stationed at the window watching for it the entire time.

As it backed into the driveway, he went out the service entrance and met the driver.

"Back it all the way up next to the privacy fence," he informed the man. "The basement entrance is in the very back, a short walk through the gate."

The driver nodded and did as he was told, then got out and opened the back of the truck. "Show me where it goes and then you can leave the rest to me," he said.

Jared led the way, opening the gate and unlocking the double doors under the deck to reveal a double wide staircase that led a half flight down to the basement. He went on down, lighting the way with the hand-held torch he carried.

"There it is," he said, pointing to the non-functional generator.

The man puled out his own torch. "Off you go," he said, "I'm certain that this has made you miserable enough, but I'll have you right in no time."

"You've no idea," Jared replied. "I'd deeply appreciate it being done as soon as possible."

"It's the least we can do after so unfortunate a failure," the man replied. With that, he headed back upstairs to fetch the new generator.

* * *

As soon as the butler re-entered the mansion, V jumped back onto the truck and jacked up the dolly he was using to move the phony generator. In truth, the metal shell he had retrieved from a recycle yard at the true generator company was filled with the explosives he'd taken out of New Scotland Yard.

He, of course, already knew his way around Chamber's basement. He'd been down there earlier, disabling the generator. Finch and Stone thought that he was sneaking in equipment for disabling the mansion's anti-bugging system. He'd hidden the truth from them; that his main purpose was planting a bomb. He'd already disabled the countermeasures here and planted his own devices. He had only to switch them on and Finch and Stone would be listening in.

He'd also already paid visits to other residences belonging to members of this group. He'd chosen them based upon the detectives' surveillance of group members, picking out those in particular who represented the greatest threat. Each place had been mined with explosives, but the largest portion of those explosives were to be planted here.

This entire mansion would be obliterated during an upcoming meeting of all the key players in the puppet master organization.

* * *

"Eric, can you hear me?" It was V's voice on the speaker.

"Gotcha," he replied.

"I'm finished here. You should have audio on the house. There's a call coming through now. See if you can pick it up."

Finch put his headphones on, as did Dominic. A few turns of the frequency dial and suddenly he had something.

It appeared to be the Lord Chief Justice's voice.

"I've got it," he told V.

"Good. Take notes. I'm on my way back."

* * *

When V met up with his BFC van twenty minutes later, he was back in his vigilante persona and as he entered the rear of the vehicle he was greeted by five pairs of eyes and a momentary silence.

Noting the woman seated next to Finch, he bowed and took her hand. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" he asked gallantly. It never hurt to be polite. Too many people in the world already hated him.

"May I introduce Eileen Winters?" Finch responded. "She was the Dascombes' cook until six dead men invaded her area and Mrs. Dascombe decided she should be eliminated, so to speak.

V brought the woman's hand to his mask's lips. "I am very pleased to meet you," he said. "I take it that the good Chief Inspector rescued you?"

"He did," she said, with a shy look at Finch.

Behind the mask, V smiled. It looked like the inspector's lonely days might be over.

Then he straightened and turned to look at the men on the floor.

Dascombe began to shake with fear.

"V," Dominic called. "You need to hear the phone call we recorded between Giselle Dascombe and Lord Chambers."

He turned back towards the monitors. "Put it on the speakers," he said.

Not three minutes later, the recording ended and Dominic switched it off.

V exhaled slowly as he forced himself to stay calm. He'd just heard enough to know that Giselle herself, not the Lord Chief Justice, was the head of the puppet masters. She'd just called for an emergency meeting of the secret organization. Moreover, she was calling for them to strike now; to blow up New Scotland Yard. AS for her husband, Roger; she'd stated that he was not a concern.

His eyes turned towards the man in question and saw disbelief and pain there, now displacing his fear for himself.

He was certain that the same exact expression had once been seen on his face, put there by the same woman.

With a heartfelt sigh, he reached down and grasped Dascombe by the collar, then turned back towards the two police officers.

"Roger and I have somewhere we must be," he announced. "Eric, why don't you take Ms. Winters home? I'm certain that Dominic can book the chauffeur on his own. Then perhaps you two would be willing to keep an eye and ear on the mansion for me?"

"Of course," they both answered together.

"Oh, and do me a favor," he added. "Keep the van at least a block away. No point in getting any closer than that and risking being spotted now that you've got audio."

With that, he lifted Dascombe to his feet, which were manacled, and dragged him out the back behind him.

* * *

After cutting the external phone lines, V climbed up to the roof of the Dascombe house easily enough, even with Roger in tow. Up to the very top he went and once there, he secured his guest to the spine of the roof before re-shouldering the bag he'd brought along and dropping down to the roof a floor below.

He moved silently, all the while peering in windows and getting his bearings. Once he'd ascertained that Giselle was in the master bathroom on the second floor, he retrieved Roger and let himself in the chosen bedroom window down at the other end of the floor. Dragging Roger in after him, he closed the window behind him.

Leaving Roger behind, he let himself into the hallway and moved down it in the direction of the master suite, stopping just outside the closed door.

Opening his bag, he removed a heavy brace, which he fit in the door jam and cranked open until it was strongly wedged and unmovable. He attached the doorknob to it, effectively barring Giselle in her room.

Reaching back in the bag, he produced an explosive device, which he positioned against the door and armed. Then he added a scrambler, which would knock out all cell phone signals within a fifty foot radius.

Moving back down the hallway, he fetched Roger, dragging him down the hall and taping the man to the carpet where he would be able to hear everything that happened within the room, yet not be able to move about or touch the bomb.

His prep work done, V went back down the hall, through the bedroom and out the window onto the roof to wait.

* * *

Finally done with her primping, Giselle through on a wrap and headed for the door. Time was wasting and her people awaited her; awaited the most important speech she would ever give; the one that would kick off their coup.

With a thrill of excitement, she made to leave the bedroom, turning the doorknob and pushing.

The door wouldn't budge.

Again she turned the knob and pushed, this time putting her shoulder into it and again the door refused to move. Looking at the gap between the door and the jam, she could see that although the knob was turning, the lock was not disengaging.

What a time to have a hardware failure!

With a long-suffering sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Lord Chamber's residence.

There was no signal.

Trying twice more with the same result, she began to lose her temper. How dare such things thwart her? How long would it take those morons to realize that something was wrong and come back to get her?

There had to be a way...

As she looked around the room, her eyes came to rest on the window. Even though she was on the third floor, her window looked out over the slope of the roof that overhung a second floor balcony.

She should be able to make it down.

Throwing the window open, she began to ease herself out and froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

Standing on the spine of the roof just above her and to her left was a figure in black, it's cloak blowing demoniacally around it, its face that of a grinning Guy Fawkes.

It was their nemesis; the terrorist known only as V and it suddenly became clear to her that her door and phone problems had nothing at all to do with Murphy's Law.

He had maneuvered her into doing exactly what she was doing.

Her heart began to pound and she remained motionless, waiting for him to make a move.

Still, he merely stood and watched her, eventually tipping his head at her as though to say that it was her move.

With a stifled cry of, "Shit!" she jerked back into the bedroom and slammed the window closed, locking it. There was a gun... Roger kept a gun...

Thankfully, she remembered through her panic, that it was in the closet; in a shoebox on the floor.

Throwing the closet doors open, she dove down to the floor and went for it...

Just then, a black boot kicked in the cross beam of the window with a deafening crack of snapped lumber and an explosion of glass.

Then the gun was in her hand and she was thumbing off the safety. With no time to take careful aim, she raised it and fired as a billowing black cloak obscured her entire field of vision.

The loud report rang in her ears at the same time that a powerful blow struck her hand, hard enough to numb it while sending the gun flying and her body twisting to the left.

In the sudden silence and stillness that followed, as pain blossomed in what was, more than likely a broken right wrist, she pushed herself up with her left hand and with a great deal of trepidation, looked up at the creature who now loomed over her.

A black shadow, black cloak sweeping the ground around her, his Guy Fawkes face leering, he brought a hand gallantly to the brim of his hat and tipped it at her.

"What is it you want?" she dared demand, while cradling her destroyed wrist in her other hand.

"Why, my dear," he purred in a deep, velvet voice. "What any jilted, tormented lover would want; closure."

Her mind twisted. Lover? Jilted? Tormented? His voice seemed familiar, yet somehow not...

He bent slightly at the waist, bringing his mask down closer. "Come now," he chided. "Was it really so very easy for you to sentence me to die; and at a government sponsored hell hole at that?"

It was then that her brain made the last connections, recognizing the voice as one from her past, though much changed in inflection and pitch. It was HIS voice; the one she had heard in her dreams for many years now, the one that, in those dreams, had amicably chatted with her over tea and assured her that she was forgiven.

But now that voice was altered... it was seductive, sensual and something more; dangerous. Very dangerous.

She stopped breathing, in shock at the discovery that this man, the demon she most feared these days, the infamous V, was in fact the man she had once married, then despised and reviled as a spineless bookworm.

His voice dropped into an even deeper range, sounding like a growl as he continued, "Was I really that insignificant in comparison to your aspirations that you could send me off to die so horribly, besmirch me with a false drunk driving death and then so completely forget about it?"

"My God..."

He laughed softly, humorlessly. "Oh, that is not the name you knew me by."

Reaching down, he grasped a large handful of hair at the base of her skull and pulled her up to her feet to face him.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me, Vance?" she asked bravely, while her legs, unknown to him, trembled with fear.

The man known as V froze, an audible gasp escaping him. The hand that gripped her hair so tightly loosened its grip somewhat.

Whatever just happened? Was he, of all people, shocked by her conviction that he was there to kill her?

Quickly, she brought her knee up, aiming for his crotch.

He was far too fast.

With a humorless laugh, he batted her leg aside with a powerful blow to her inside thigh. The pain of it brought tears to her eyes and made her cry out.

Then his fingers tightened their grip once more and lifter her higher; as though she weighed nothing. She cried out again as she was lifted onto her toes and shaken until she bit her cheek.

"Come now; one would think that after all these years you'd stop trying to emasculate me." The mask drew closer. "By the way, tell me my dear; did you ever have any children?" he asked dangerously, nearly bumped her nose with his ceramic one.

"No," she squeaked.

"Good," he ground out. "I would hate to know that there were more like you in the world." He shook her again then threw her casually to the floor, where she lay disoriented and in pain for a moment.

When she was again able to think, she wiped the blood from her mouth and glared up at him.

"You didn't answer my question," she spat.

Only then did she realize that he had a long dagger in his hand and that he was tapping the flat of the blade against the open palm of his other hand as he studied her.

"I should kill you for the things you did to me," he said, in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Hope blossomed within her; he wasn't here to kill her after all...

"Yet, when all is said and done," he continued. "I will kill you instead for all the things you did to your country, its people; all those you used and sent on to their deaths, but most of all I will gladly kill you for what you had done to Evey Hammond."

"Your paramour..." She snorted. "Come now, you could have done better than a ward-of-the-state juvenile reject like her. Besides, I had no idea that you were V."

She heard him hiss and looking at him carefully she realized quite too late that her words had enraged him; he was literally shaking with barely controlled fury. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing.

"You knew the risk when you dared to attack her, regardless of my true identity. You had to know that I would come for you; you wanted just that. You wanted to bring me out in the open." He gestured at himself dramatically. "And here I am, just as you had wished, although I fear that it is not I who will be dying this night..."

"You can't mean it!" she pleaded as panic set in. "Can't you remember a time when you once loved me?"

Again she heard a low laugh come from the mask. "Surely you jest?" he managed to choke out. Then, abruptly the laughing stopped. "There is, however, something I would like of you before we conclude this; our last meeting in this life..."

She couldn't even ask what he wanted, so frightened was she. This definitely was not the same man she had been married to all those years ago! He was radically changed.

If only he had been this way then...

Apparently having reached some decision, he sheathed his blade, reached down and again dragged her to her feet, this time by the back of her neck.

"I would like, for old time's sake... a kiss," he whispered near her ear. "Yes, a kiss so that you can see my face one last time."

"Your... f.f.f.face?" she stuttered; shocked, terrified, yet thrilled at the thought that she would actually see the man once more; see the face hidden from the rest of the world.

He nodded.

Reaching behind his wig, he undid the ties to the mask and without further adieu, let it drop away from his face.

And once again her breath caught in her throat. She almost could not comprehend what she was seeing... and before she could take that much-needed breath, his mouth was on hers, causing her to stiffen in place and lock up in terror.

Gripping her neck painfully, he pressed her to him, his tongue invading her mouth, plundering, preventing her from breathing as she struggled and tried to push him away.

His kiss was an attack; a deliberately cruel way of paying her back for the events which had led to the new face that now pressed against hers. Somehow, in the midst of her terror, she knew it.

When her vision grew dim and she thought she would faint, he withdrew, but not before biting her sharply on the lip and drawing her blood.

Then he did something, which in her mind proved him mad; he slowly licked the blood from her lip with a single pass of his tongue.

"'Avaunt and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!'" he quoted. "'Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!'"

She drew in a ragged gasp of air, then another before she could truly take a proper breath. Her head was swimming as his eyes; eyes she recognized, watched her intently.

Somehow her mind insisted on blanking out his ruined face and concentrated instead only on his eyes. And truth be told, she never had forgotten them; the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen... blue as a newborn babe's cobalt gaze.

Something in his eyes changed as he noted her expression. They seemed to soften somewhat. Perhaps he felt a sudden doubt about the situation. Perhaps he remembered the few good times they had shared.

Either way, he denied anything he might be feeling by pushing her away with far less force than he might otherwise have used.

She stumbled backwards and landed on the bed. By the time she looked up, the mask was back in place and the dagger back in his hand.

"I've decided to give you a chance, Giselle," he said, his voice carrying like a professional announcer's. "It's a chance you never gave me; a fighting chance."

He pointed at the gun, which lay on the carpet across the room.

"You have a gun. I have my knives." He spun one up through the air and caught it by its hilt to prove his point. "I'll be waiting for you on the roof outside your window. You can either face me fairly or choose your usual cowardly way and remain here... in which case you'll know at least something of what I endured in the moments before you perish."

"You see; I've a bomb set to detonate outside your door in just two minutes. It's an incendiary one," he added with relish. "Don't take too long to make up your mind."

He put one leg through the window and in a swirl of his black cloak, disappeared.

Her eyes turned towards the gun on the floor and her heart began skipping beats as terror overcame her...

Her right hand was useless; she would have to use her left to wield her only weapon!

* * *

V perched upon the spine of the roof where he had been when Giselle had first seen him and sheathed his dagger. He was well aware that she had no use of her right hand and the gentleman in him demanded that he give her at least some small chance.

Then he waited...

And while he waited he tried desperately not to think about what she had called him or of the images that name had unlocked within his head. If he thought about it, he would surely have a breakdown.

Thirty seconds ticked by, then forty-five...

Would she burn rather than even try to best him?

Then there came a sudden "pop"; the sound of the gun discharging and he realized that she had taken a third way out; the one he hadn't brought up as an option.

Quite honestly, he was surprised that she had the guts to do it.

Or had she? It might be a trick. He decided to stay put for another thirty seconds.

Right on time the bomb detonated as he dropped down flat on the other side of the spine to avoid any flying debris. Then he was back up and making for the window, achieving it in just two bounds.

He peered inside and saw the door was blown open and blackened while flames climbed ever higher around it and within the room. The hallway beyond was an inferno and already the heat near the window was becoming unbearable. He wouldn't be able to remain much longer without risking the little skin he had left; yet he refused to leave until he confirmed that Giselle was no more.

Suddenly something hit him hard, driving him back a pace and radiating hot pain through his right arm... even as the sound of the gunshot finally caught up with him.

Giselle appeared at the window, her clothes smoldering, her mouth pulled back in an obscene rictus at the pain of the intense heat charring her back. She was making a break for it, climbing out the window even as she leveled the gun at him once more.

Unfortunately for her, he was still too close and far too fast to take another bullet. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and punched her full force in the face.

So much for being a gentleman…

She flew backward like a broken puppet, landing far back in the room where she was instantly embraced by fire.

She didn't move again, nor make a sound.

His blow must have killed her, sparing her any further agony.

Pity...

At least he could take comfort in the fact that his blow had spared her further pain. As it turned out, his punch had been the gentlemanly thing to do.

Without further delay, he turned and leaped off the roof, then stalked away as the house went up in flames behind him.

In the distance multiple explosions could be heard, followed by the sound of sirens.

* * *

"Holy!" Dominic exclaimed as the residence in the Hyde Park area blew sky high in a cascade of stone and fire. Multiple secondary explosions obliterated what was left of it even as V's signature fireworks lit the sky with his initial and a show celebrating the end of dangerous threat.

Finch jumped from the van to watch from outside and was quickly joined by his partner. Both gaped at the display.

"Sir, did you have any inkling that he was going to do this?" Dominic finally managed to ask.

"I can't say that I did," came the tired response. "I guess we now why he wanted the explosives, eh?"

Just then the horizon was lit by several more explosions and fireworks displays.

"Looks like he took out the entire lot of them," Finch commented, this time with a sad smile.

"Boy, won't the boys at the Yard be beside themselves over this?" Dominic added.

Right on cue, Finch's phone rang. He looked at the display, then at his partner. "That's the boss now," he laughed.

"What will you tell him?"

"The truth, Dominic, the truth... except the part where we let him keep the explosives. We'll just tell him that they... vanished."

* * *

V perched atop the tallest building in the subdivision of Marylebone. From his current location he'd been able to survey his handiwork in areas all around him as well as the ensuing mayhem.

Yet, now as the fires died down before the might of the various fire brigades, his thoughts turned back towards Giselle.

For the first time he could recall, he felt a gaping emptiness after carrying out a mission of justice.

Oh, he knew she had to die; that no court would have handed down justice to a woman with her connections, not on the mere say-so of a Chief Inspector, his Detective and a Vigilante; not even with any hard evidence they submitted. He also knew that she had to die not for his protection but for the protection of England herself. Not to mention that he would have gladly killed her without question simply for what she had her people do to his Evey.

No. despite all that, his heart was aching over this and he was having a very hard time understanding precisely why. After all, he didn't remember very much about her, only a few snippets of memory; some good, most bad.

He sighed. In the end, he might as well admit that what he was feeling was guilt. He'd killed her, no matter that she had to die and that he'd given her a fighting chance.

In the end he had killed her; she who had once been his wife, his lover; she who was the last person to know who he once had been.

And perhaps that was why he mourned her; she had truly known the "him" who had died at Larkhill.

"Then let them rest together," he said aloud, surprising himself. "They have no place in this new world. I am V, not Vance, not Vartan. And my story is only just beginning."

He rose from his crouch then and stood straight, suddenly at peace with himself.

He knew who he was now and that was what mattered.

What was more; he knew whom he loved.

It was time to pay her a goodnight visit.

**Next time: Epilogue; Rebirth**


	6. Epilogue

**Second Chances**  
A "V for Vendetta" story by Tina Price.

**Preview:** Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?

**Disclaimer: **V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.

**Author's notes: **This story is** rated R,** overall for some adult content. **The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage.** As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

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**Chapter 5: Epilogue**

Officer Samuel MacLauren was anxious for his shift to end. He'd been assigned to watch over Evey Hammond at St. Thomas' Hospital and had endured a long, boring ten-hour shift... while all hell was breaking loose out in the city!

His radio had been alive with emergency dispatches following news of a series of explosions. And although he pitied the little lady what she'd suffered, it still was beyond him that anyone would go to any trouble to try and finish her off. The Inspector had reminded them all that she had once been the accomplice of code name V and they therefore all carried on with their assignment with a minimum of grumbling, but he still couldn't help but view it as something of a waste; he could be out on the street helping with explosions for God's sake!

Being a rookie definitely had its drawbacks; like pulling all the unwanted assignments.

Still, at least his turn was over. Now if only Murray would show his face so that they could switch off...

-----------------------------------------------

Dr. Michael Cahill followed his usual routine, taking the road less traveled while on his way to visit his friend, Evey Hammond. Elevators came in handy now and then, but climbing the stairs was one method he used to help keep himself in shape.

Only thirty minutes ago, he'd heard the first news reports of a series of explosions across the area and felt in his bones that V had to be involved in some way. If Evey had seen the news, she'd be in a terrible state right now, especially since she had no one to confide in. If she hadn't seen it, if she didn't know... then she should.

Either way, it would be best if she had some company tonight.

Bounded up the steps two at a time, focused entirely upon the stairs directly in front of him, he got the surprise of his life when he rounded the landing between the forth and fifth floors.

Lying on the floor up ahead of him, just inside the fifth floor fire door, was a police officer.

With an exclamation, he bounded up the last few steps and quickly assessed the situation; the young man appeared to be dead, the victim of a stab wound through his back.

He was about to begin CPR on the off chance that the man could yet be saved, when the full picture hit him; this man had undoubtedly been assigned to watch over Evey!

Coming to his feet, he cracked open the fire door and peered cautiously down the corridor.

There was no guard outside Evey's room, but the nurses and medical staff appeared to be going about their business in the usual manner.

As quietly as he could, he stepped through and closed the door behind him. Step by step he slowly approached the room in question until he was right outside the doorway.

He glanced around the jam and spied another police officer, but something was decidedly very wrong with what he was seeing; the man should have remained stationed outside the door.

Instead, he was reaching for the IV line that ran from the pump to Evey's arm. As for Evey, she slumbered, unaware of her strange visitor.

Michael didn't think twice; he grabbed something out of the hallway crash cart and then stepped inside the room to confront the man.

"Here; what do you think you're doing?" he yelled rather loudly.

The officer spun towards him, a scowl appearing on his face as he placed something inside his jacket. "I'm her guard. Who the hell are you?" As he spoke, he drew his gun and began moving towards him.

Michael stood his ground and clutched the scalpel tightly behind his back in the hope that he might have a chance to use it.

And suddenly all hell seemed to break loose!

There was an explosive crash as glass shrapnel flew, then the room seemed to darken perceptively as black cloth billowed through the air. There came a strangled cry from the guard, followed by a silence broken only by the final tinkle of falling glass.

V stood over the fallen man, his knives already sheathed before his cloak settled about him.

"Phone Finch," was all he said to Michael before turning away to comfort a now awake and frightened Evey.

"V? What's happened?" she asked, struggling to sit up.

"Shhh... All is well," came V's reply as he sat on the bed beside her, deliberately turning his back to the doorway and hiding his masked face from the people who would undoubtedly be arriving.

Michael pulled out his cell phone as those very people: nurses and other staff began gathering in the room.

"We've got things in control here. Get the crash cart to stairwell one and see if you can save the officer there!" he barked.

Half the staff flew down the hall to the fire door while several assessed the officer V had dispatched, quickly declaring him beyond their help.

Two nurses went to check on Evey and recognizing her visitor, backed away with dumbfounded expressions.

At that point V seemed to accept that there was no further reason to hide his face and he looked back over his left shoulder, apparently taking in the room and any immediate threats.

As Michael dialed the Inspector, he could hear the remaining staff, as well as a few visitors, whispering in the background as they surveyed the scene.

"It's V!"

"No look, it's really him!"

"He saved that patient..."

"I think he knows her..."

"...Evey Hammond..."

"She was his accomplice, remember?"

Inwardly, Michael groaned. Keeping a lid on this was going to be very difficult.

"Yeah?" It was Finch answering.

"Inspector, Doctor Cahill here. There's been an... incident in Evey's room."

"Is she alright?" Finch immediately asked.

"Yeah, but it looks as though one of your men was trying to kill her. Fortunately for me V came in through the window and took care of him."

"Christ! How many people have seen this?"

"Quite a few."

"I'm on my way. Get V out of there before security arrives!"

Michael didn't have to be told twice. Clicking off his cell phone, he was about to call out V's name, then thought better of it and instead moved up to the man and gripped his arm.

V hissed, quickly pulling his arm away, then cursed softly under his breath as he cradled the arm in question. The mask turned to regard him, a few pained gasps escaping it.

"Finch is on his way. We have to get out of here," Michael informed him.

"Someone must stay here with Evey until he arrives," V managed to reply, having gained some control over his pain.

"The room is full of people; she won't be in any danger!" he said, his voice louder than he'd intended. "Besides, hospital security will be here any second; so unless you want this entire thing to end badly, you'll come along!"

"V, go with Michael!" Evey pleaded. "Please?"

The vigilante stood with a sigh. "Yes. Of course. I'll be back as soon as it's feasible..."

Michael grasped his other arm and tugged on him with little effect. The man was like an unmovable wall. But when Evey withdrew her hand and instead pushed at her lover, he turned and followed him out.

Quickly, Michael led him towards a second stairwell.

-----------------------------------------------------

Eric Finch arrived on the scene twenty minutes later, accompanied by four police officers. He'd had to leave Dominic behind to supervise the scene of the main explosion, something he would rather be doing himself, but Evey and V needed him and they were a higher priority.

As expected, hospital security had arrived well before him, but as luck would have it the charge nurse had managed to convince by-standers not to mention that the man who entered the window was V. She'd made them understand that any such mention of the vigilante would most likely result in an extended visit to New Scotland Yard, where they would more than likely be questioned the rest of the night.

It had worked like a charm; hospital security knew only that there'd been an intruder in a ski mask, who had for some reason killed the officer in the room and who had probably also killed the one in the stairwell.

Finch had immediately dismissed the hospital security detail and taken over the investigation.

What a night; would it ever end?

Thank goodness the charge nurse was one smart woman.

Finch found himself admiring her even more when she'd mentioned that the staff at least could be counted on to keep V's secrets. Of course a few of them had now surmised that the man who visited Evey daily was in fact V. Wild horses would not drag that information out of them.

She also informed him that the young doctor, Cahill had somehow convinced V to leave with him, half dragging him by an arm towards the other stairwell.

"Thank-you for your quick thinking," he commended her, pulling up Michael Cahill's number on his cell phone.

She nodded and wandered away as he waited for a connection.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Doctor, this is Inspector Finch."

"Ah, Inspector; I hope things are going well." As Michael spoke, V closed the distance between them and he couldn't help but feel intimidated by the way the taller man invaded his personal space, seeming to hover over him.

Gripping Michael's wrist, V brought it and the cell phone he held up so that it was suspended in the space between their ears, allowing him to listen in.

They could both hear Finch's next words. "Well, it won't be easy, but I think we can preserve our masked friend's identity thanks to the quick thinking of the charge nurse. I think I know what happened here, but I need a few questions answered before I can tell you with any real certainty." There was a slight pause. "Could you ask V why he was at the window when he was?"

V pulled the phone closer to his mask and spoke up. "I merely wished to check up on Evey and not having my street clothes, was forced to take the more difficult entrance."

"When I arrived at the window Michael had just confronted the officer, whom I was alarmed to see holding a syringe and reaching for Evey's IV line. As soon as he turned towards the good doctor and pulled his gun, I made my entrance, breaking the window to draw his attention from Michael to myself.

"Wouldn't you have had to break the window to see Evey anyway?" Finch asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I would have pried the frame away from the wall with a flat edge I keep in my boot, thus avoiding both broken glass and detection." V informed him.

Michael did a double take while the inspector merely let out a short, "Ah."

"I take it that the officer who was about to harm Evey was one of the two you suspect planted the explosives at the Yard?" V asked.

"He was. Apparently he volunteered to take watch tonight and of course the assigned officer saw no problem with that. As I'm certain you both already know, he likely killed Officer MacLauren and whatever is in that syringe, I'm quite certain it is not benign."

"So what now?" Michael asked, drawing the phone back towards himself.

"Now you get V out of here without him being recognized and I get my people to do damage control and keep our witnesses from blabbing about what they saw. Then I'm afraid that I'll need you down at the Yard for questioning. Have to keep it official, you know."

"One thing, detective," V broke in, again taking control of the phone.

"Yes?"

"I want you to take Evey into protective custody and then release her to me. It's the only way I can get her out of here and keep her safe."

"V, she isn't well enough yet!" Michael protested. "You won't find any physician willing to discharge her when she could still hemorrhage at any time. If it happens away from hospital, it will be a death sentence. Do you really want to take that risk?"

"At this point it is far more likely that she may be killed by another surviving PM member; the other suspect officer for example. I'm certain at this point that if he wasn't at the house when I blew it up, he has dropped under the radar," the vigilante replied.

"There won't be any further problems with Evey's security detail," Finch chimed in. "And we'll increase the detail to two men at any given time. I hope that will suffice; I've dealt with hospitals before and if the doctor is correct, the hospital will take legal action to prevent me removing her from the premises. Besides, Michael is right; anyone can see, just looking at her, that she should not be released."

"Very well." V released the phone, then stalked back towards the x-ray table.

"Good. Where are you two, anyway?"

"Down in the x-ray department," Michael replied. "V most likely has a broken arm. I'm just awaiting the x-ray results, then I'll treat it and get him out of here."

"How did that happen?"

"Bullet."

"I see. Is he still there?"

"He's wandered away for the moment," Michael said, giving V a glance.

"Well, have him phone me when he gets home."

"Will do."

Michael put his phone away and turned towards the man in question.

"Why don't you lay down on the table while I go fetch your films?"

With a sigh of exhaustion, V did just that.

------------------------------------------

A short time later, V lay, dressed in surgical scrubs, on the cold table beneath the fluoroscope. He also wore a surgical cap and mask. His mask, wig, clothes and boots, along with his daggers, were bundled up in his cloak and sitting on the counter behind the doctor.

He grunted as Michael pulled gently on his hand and checked the alignment of his bones on the monitor. The pain was tremendous, but something he was quite capable of handling.

Apparently satisfied with his work, the doctor gently eased his arm down onto the table. "Don't move!" he instructed as he turned off the equipment and reached for the materials he would use to immobilize the damaged limb.

"You realize of course that I'll be removing that in a day or two," V informed him when he saw the doctor was intent upon making him an old-fashioned plaster cast.

"Yes, but at least you'll keep it on long enough," Michael replied as he worked. In a short time he had the arm covered in hardening plaster from the upper arm on down to below the elbow.

V let out a long-suffering sigh. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes," the doctor snapped. "You cannot be subjecting that bone to the kind of pressure your muscles are capable of or you will have the ends completely apart again!" Then Michael took a deep breath and sighed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scold," he said.

"Scold? Doctor, you nearly snapped my head off." V looked him over. "What's really troubling you?" he asked, his intuition at least as good as Evey's.

A long sigh was followed by a measuring look. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you... but with Evey in hospital and everything that's been happening, I just..." He sighed again and then stood up straighter. "Who am I kidding? The fact is that I've been putting this off, but I can't any longer."

V fixed him with a wary stare. "Go on."

"I'm very sorry to say that I didn't heed that bit of advice you gave me a while back," the physician said, then added. "I'm very sorry indeed. I only hope that you can forgive me."

V stopped breathing as he realized to which advice his friend was referring. It surprised him to realize that it was not anger he first felt wash over him, but rather a profound sadness.

"And what exactly did you do, Michael?" he finally forced himself to ask, as he sat up and glared reproachfully at the man.

Michael picked up the remaining bits of plaster gauze and stepped away to the sink, no doubt to put more distance between them. "She was staying with me. She treated me so well… It seems I deluded myself into thinking that maybe, in light of the situation, that she was ready for a change; that she fancied me…"

"Ah... I see," the vigilante murmured, getting back on his feet while fighting the nausea that suddenly assailed him.

The doctor dried his hands and turned to face him while leaning on the counter. "I asked her to dress up and I took her out to dinner. We had a wonderful meal, laughed and joked together, remembering times we shared."

He rolled his eyes and V was surprised to see tears in them.

"When we got back in the car, I leaned over and kissed her."

Saddened at the betrayal or not, V literally saw red; something that had not happened to him on this scale since Larkhill. In the silence of the room, the sound of the edge of the metal exam table buckling under his grip was deafening.

Michael took a step back, all color draining from his face.

"And what," V asked, in a strained voice, "happened then?"

"Evey immediately pushed me away and took me to task," the doctor groaned. "She made it quite clear that she had no romantic feelings for anyone other than you and then stated that she'd be moving out after work the next day."

V relaxed slightly. "Oh, Michael," he breathed. "I had such high hopes that you would be my friend…"

"I am," the man answered anxiously. "I know that you don't believe it after… after hearing this, but you'll never know how much I regret my impulsiveness. I should have realized what I was risking when I chose to ignore your warning."

"And what exactly were you risking?"

"Something that might have otherwise grown to be my closest friendship… "

V was stunned; completely surprised that Michael thought that much of him and he remained silent for some time before speaking.

"You've destroyed my trust in you," he finally said. "On a night when I confronted the one person whose betrayal led me down this sad path I walk, I find that you've betrayed me as well. You've done the one thing I find very difficult to forgive and that I asked you not to do. I, too had high hopes for our friendship, but how am I ever to enjoy your company again?"

The doctor actually moved forward and closed the distance between them. "When I went to visit Evey, when I was there when she awoke," he began. "She didn't remember me at all… She just kept asking for you. Even now, although she seems to be remembering me, she does not remember that night: I know; I asked. If I had simply kept my mouth shut, you would never know I had betrayed your trust. No one but me would ever know. Yet, knowing the possible consequences, I still told you the truth because I do value you and respect you. Don't you see? I risked it all to set things right between us!"

"Yes, but I have to wonder if you would be so honest now had Evey responded to you that night," he replied, suddenly too tired to want to carry on the conversation.

"V, I told you the truth because I want to win back your trust. I want to be your friend," Michael pleaded.

"It seems more likely at this point that you wish to remain close to me so that you may remain close to Evey," he sighed, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes… to convince you that is not true and I will continue to do so until you tell me there is no hope."

V walked to the counter and placed his things in a plastic hospital bag, then turned to fix the doctor with a sympathetic look. "There is always hope," he said as he reached for the door handle. "But you have to understand that from now on, when Evey kisses me, I will remember that you kissed her too… Whenever I see you, I will remember that as well. Whenever you are near Evey, I will always feel a deep suspicion and pang of jealousy."

"Don't you see? What you've done will forever color our relationship and that cannot be undone. After all the betrayals I have suffered, I do not know if your friendship is worth that price. For me, at least, it may be best to remember that you were once my friend and leave it at that."

Michael looked stricken.

With a final glance at him, V left the room.

Almost immediately, he had to step aside as a gurney was rushed past him, three people in scrubs fighting to keep the patient alive long enough to complete some task in the radiology department.

It was the smell that made him turn and follow them; that forced him to try to catch sight of the pitiful thing that lay on the gurney.

That was when the patient's arm flailed outwards and he saw what he had feared he would; an arm and hand with the skin literally falling off them.

He felt an overpowering desire to draw one of his daggers and end the poor sod's life. It would have been a mercy.

Then an ugly thought occurred to him. Had this person been caught in one of the explosions he himself had set? Was he responsible for this atrocity?

It brought him up short and he found himself leaning on the corridor wall as he fought down the powerful urge to retch.

Right then and there he swore that he'd blown up his last building.

-------------------------------------------

Days passed.

Evidence was gathered.

In the end the government made up a story about opposing extremist factions carrying out an all-out war in London. Nothing to fear, though; they took each other out and London's finest mopped up the rest of the lot...

Finch's explanation was that the evidence he and Dominic turned in had proved to be too embarrassing for the new government. There was no good way to explain away the fact that Sutler and his regime had been controlled by an elitist group, which, up until the day before had also been seizing control of the new government.

Such news would have caused wide-spread panic, re-elections and the like... No, best to simply bury the truth.

"I guess there really isn't such a thing as an honest government, " Finch said with no small amount of disgust. He threw the newspaper he'd been reading in the trash outside the cafe he and Dominic had just exited.

His partner backed up his sentiments by spitting on the sidewalk, then gave him a measuring look. "At least we now have one man high up who can be counted on to do the right thing. Isn't that right, Deputy Commissioner?"

"Yeah, and with any luck my hands won't be completely tied."

"Well, I thought that was where your new 'specialist' came in?"

Finch smiled; a rare thing for him. "That is exactly right, Dominic... exactly right."

-----------------------------------------------

It was only two weeks later, on a cold, blustery late afternoon when V handed Evey gently into a waiting cab and then joined her in the back, giving the driver their destination.

With a quietly murmured, "Come here," he leaned back into the seat and with an arm around her shoulders, pulled her to him. Only once she was safely tucked against his side did he sigh heavily and finally seem to relax.

Evey stole a quick glance at him to see that he had his head tilted back to rest against the top of the seat and that his eyes were closed.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, deeply concerned. He hadn't seemed to be himself lately and she supposed it was little wonder. After all, he'd suffered a broken arm and far worst than that; emotional trauma.

To have killed his own ex-wife; how horrible had that been? But to have had him admit to her that he felt both grief and joy at having done so... Now THAT had her concerned.

And there was more to it even than that. He'd had a fight of some sort with Michael that neither would talk about, but which had left them both miserable.

Then there was V's account of having seen that badly burned man in a hospital corridor. Somehow he was convinced that it was his fault and nothing she could tell him would convince him otherwise.

She'd asked him over and over again why he felt that way and he'd always replied that he knew the truth when he saw it. Obviously there was something else going on there that he refused to tell her...

"V?" she prompted again.

His eyes opened slightly and he regarded her almost demurely from beneath his lashes. "Oh, it has been a long haul, but I imagine that once I have you home I'll be right as rain," he replied.

She snuggled closer, wrapping her right arm about him and clutching a handful of his coat, rewarded when he kissed her forehead and rubbed his latex cheek against her head.

He smelled so good to her; always had, even when first they'd met in that dreary alley over a year ago. Didn't the scientists say that humans picked their mates partly by scent, whether they realized it or not? Even now, as she surreptitiously sniffed him, she heard him smelling her hair in turn and instantly felt such desire for him wash over her that she nearly cursed the traffic that was delaying their return home.

As he often did, V seemed to sense her sudden agitation and he brought his left hand up to stroke her cheek. "Shhhh, little one; we're nearly there."

Had she made some sound? How had he picked up on her mood so easily?

She looked up at him and found his blue gaze awaiting her. "How...?" she began.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Your legs grow restless and you start moving your feet a lot," he said with no small amount of humor.

"Oh."

He tightened his embrace. The air was chill and damp, but he was warm and comforting. She felt loved, protected... In his arms she knew she would never come to harm; the most horrible of calamities would befall any who tried to hurt her.

Despite herself, the motion of the cab and the feel of his embrace soon lulled her to sleep.

---------------------------------------------

V craned his neck and glanced down at Evey as the taxi turned onto their street, quickly realizing that she was fast asleep.

Was it any wonder, really? After all, she wasn't yet used to being out of bed for this long at a stretch, the medication she was taking for pain made her woozy and her body was still healing from what should have been a fatal injury.

He kissed the top of her head, paid the cab driver as they pulled up in front of the bookstore and then slid out while lifting Evey in his arms. Unlocking the front door to the flat, he wasted no time in entering, securing it behind him and climbing the stairs.

As he placed her in their bed and pulled off her coat, she stirred, calling his name sleepily, her hand returning to grip his garment.

He sat next to her and brushed her cheek with the backs of his gloved fingers. "Rest now," he urged. "You're home."

With a smile, she settled down and drifted back off, her grip loosening enough that he was able to remove her hand from his coat, stand and then back away.

Although he didn't wish to leave her, even for a moment, his face was hurting; he needed to remove the latex appliances that made up his new visage, for he'd worn this mask too long and too often lately. The glue and latex combined were irritating his thin, scarred flesh. He would need to take a break from wearing it...

He took in the sight of Evey sleeping peacefully in his bed one more time and then, with a sigh, turned and made for his downstairs makeup room.

---------------------------------------------

Evey awoke to the feel of a hand stroking her head and opened her eyes to see V, back in his Fawksian mask and garb, sitting beside her.

"Well, hello there," he greeted her; in that husky tone she so loved.

"What time is it?" She rubbed her face, still groggy. Her medication controlled the non-stop headache and kept her cranial pressure down, but kept her either asleep or drowsy.

"It's going on eight," he replied, then added, "…that would be in the PM."

"Good lord! I'm so sorry, V… I didn't mean to abandon you like that…" She struggled to sit up, only to have him place a hand on her chest and effortlessly push her back down.

He chuckled. "Don't look so guilty, my dear. It's to be expected… and encouraged. If sleeping helps you to heal, then I'd just as soon have you sleep straight through tomorrow."

"I see," she said. "But you aren't seeing the big picture or you would realize that I don't want to sleep. I'm desperate to spend some time with you…" As she spoke, she ran her fingers up his left thigh, which was situated next to her and had the satisfaction of watching the mask tilt as he regarded her hand stroking him.

"Hmmm…" He had to stop to clear his throat. "Yes. A dreadful oversight on my part," he continued, obviously flustered. "After all, I certainly wouldn't want to deprive you in any way."

She again struggled to sit up and this time he helped her, an arm sliding behind her back and lifting.

Of course she ended up in his embrace and she quickly took advantage, burying her face in his doublet as her arms wound about his neck. She could hear him breathing unevenly, his breath meeting resistance from the mask...

"V?"

"Mmmm?"

"Why are you wearing your mask. Wouldn't you feel more comfortable without it?"

"Physically, perhaps..."

She drew back and stared up into the blank, obsidian eyes. "But, I've seen you... Have I ever given you reason to doubt me? I refuse to believe that I reacted badly when I first saw you!"

He shook his head. "No love and no again... But you do not remember my face and I choose to pick a better time to reveal myself; a time when you are no longer taking those medications."

She froze for a moment. The pain meds! He did have a point; they sometimes altered her perceptions and could therefore prove disastrous at so emotional a moment.

She sighed and returned to his eager embrace. "Yes. I suppose you're right. But why not wear the scarf instead?"

"Tomorrow I shall," he replied. In typical V fashion, he'd decided and put an end to that discussion.

Evey actually found it a refreshing trait. She always knew up front what could be negotiated and what could not. She respected that, but was determined to one day turn it back upon him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly. "You haven't eaten since this morning."

"Not hungry," she answered, her stomach instantly rebelling at the mere thought of food. Again, it was a side-effect of the medication.

He tsked softly. "Evey, you're far too thin... If I make you something bland will you at least have a few bites?"

"All right," she agreed, realizing that he was right to worry; she was looking wasted after her hospital stay.

"Good." As he stood, he reached down and scooped her up, then snatched the comforter off the bed.

A quick trip down the hallway and Evey soon found herself comfortably settled on the couch before the fireplace. V had apparently started a nice fire sometime while she slept and she found herself very appreciative of its warmth and relaxing glow.

Still, he hovered over her as though reluctant to move away.

"Would you like a book to read?" he asked. When she shook her head gingerly in the negative, he continued, "Something to drink?"

"I'm fine," she said with a smile.

He nodded and then retreated to the kitchen, where she soon heard him humming as he prepared her a meal.

She sighed with contentment at finally being with him in their new home.

---------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Evey found herself enjoying a nice soak in the tub. She was also well-fed, for she'd suddenly felt hungry upon smelling the porridge V had set out in front of her, sprinkled with brown sugar and topped with blueberries. She'd somehow managed to finish the entire bowl.

With a sigh, she sank down further beneath the bubbles and remembered how tenderly he'd run his gloved fingers over the nape of her neck and her back as she'd eaten, his chair drawn close to her own. He'd whispered encouragement as she ate and mentioned how much progress she'd made in her recovery.

"In many ways, you are like me," he'd remarked. "You're a survivor, Evey, not a victim." Then the mask had tilted ever so slightly, a sure indication that something had occurred to him.

"What is it?" she'd asked.

The mask moved closer, until the dark voids that hid his eyes were right in front of her; until she could see nothing but their dark depths.

"I just had a flash of memory; a sudden playback of all the events that have brought us to this point; this place in time where we find ourselves sitting together in our new home..."

She'd felt his hands upon her shoulders then, squeezing and kneading them.

"And I realized that this was meant to be. We were meant to be here with each other. Not even mortal injuries could prevent it from happening."

"Then let's consider ourselves blessed and not tempt fate any more than necessary," she'd answered.

"We won't. I won't," he'd promised her. "But Evey, my love..."

"V?"

"I'm beginning to believe."

"In what? She'd asked, puzzled.

"In happy endings."

They'd stared at each other for a few seconds more before she'd found herself caught in his embrace and lifted onto his lap for a good long cuddle.

After a time, he'd reluctantly stood and placed her back on her chair so that he might prepare the bath for her... and here she was, as content as she could be considering her state of health.

She thought back on what he'd said about them being fated to reach this point.

Did she believe in happy endings? Could she after all she'd suffered in her short life? If V could begin to believe despite all he'd suffered, then why couldn't she? Why did she feel as though some cruel event was waiting to occur; that their happy ending would be snatched away from her the moment she truly believed in it?

She'd had happy moments snatched away from her during her life; V had not... or at least, he couldn't remember it. Perhaps that was why this was harder for her despite that her life had been easer than his had.

Just then there was a light knock on the door and his voice called out, "May I come in?"

She looked down at her disappearing bubbles and blushed slightly. She might as well invite him in; it wasn't as though he'd never seen her naked before.

"Evey?"he called again.

"Come in," she replied, forcing herself to relax.

And there he was. "I come bearing warm gifts," he said, holding a large towel up. "Are you ready to come out?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The water is getting a bit cool."

Before she could struggle to her feet, his hand was on her arm, helping her up and then she found herself wrapped in warmth.

"Mmmm. What did you do; put it in the oven?" she asked, indicating the terrycloth.

"I did." He hugged her tightly for a moment and then took hold of the towel and actually began drying her off.

She giggled when he wrapped her arms around his neck and then lifted her right leg so that he might dry it from thigh on down to toes.

With a small chuckle of his own, he repeated the process with her left leg.

"There now; all done!" he announced as he wrapped the towel around her once more and then scooped her up in his arms.

"V, you've barely let me walk anywhere on my own tonight!" she protested as he carried her out the door and towards the bedroom.

"That, my love, is because I am using your recovery as an excuse to hold you close at every turn." So saying, he placed her in the bed and then snatched the towel away.

The small trill that escaped him as he regarded her lying there naked did unspeakable things to her body, despite the continued pain in her head.

She wanted him very badly.

"Turn out the lights and come to bed," she coaxed in a husky tone.

It seemed to break him out of his rapt state. He suddenly covered her with the comforter and then sat next to her on the bed. "First you must take your medication," he reminded her, reaching for the pills and the glass of water he'd placed on the nightstand.

Sitting up, she sighed. "How unromantic of you…"

With a small chuckle, he selected the required number of pills and held them out to her along with the water.

She waited until he returned the half-empty glass to the nightstand and then caught his uninjured arm. "Come to bed…" she again coaxed.

"Oh, I plan to…" he breathed, standing suddenly.

She watched avidly as he moved towards the door and flipped off the light switch, leaving the room illuminated only by a small lamp on the dresser. It was with some surprise that she saw him cover the remaining light source with one of her scarves. It darkened the room further and gave it a soft, warm glow, yet still left him perfectly visible.

Was he setting "the mood"? She certainly hoped so!

He quickly removed his jacket, then laid it on the chair in the corner of the room before moving back to the foot of the bed. There, he turned to face her and slowly began to unbutton his shirt, seeming all the while to be watching her; judging her reaction, perhaps?

He shucked his gloves next, tossing them across the room to land on the dresser, then pulled his shirt from his britches and shrugged out of it, allowing it to fall to the floor.

And still he watched her.

Evey swallowed with an audible gulp and the mask tilted slightly. She had no doubt that he was probably laughing at her beneath it, but at that point she hardly minded. The sight of his wide shoulders, his strong chest and lean waist had her breathing rapidly.

As for his scars...

They were nothing.

Nothing.

She barely even noticed.

Apparently satisfied with her reaction to him, he made that little sound of his; that little noise that could be so many things but which seemed right now to express pleasure. Without further adieu, he reached down to the side closure of his britches and undid it.

And again he was watching her as he stripped off both britches and boxers and stepped of of them..

Evey felt her face and chest flush as she took in his lean hips, strong lean legs and obviously awakening manhood. It was suddenly hard to breathe and her heart was racing.

Holding out her arms she whispered his name and it came out more as a plea than a summons.

Bending forward, his hands contacting the bed, he leaned his weight on his arms and stalking her on all fours, as graceful as a jungle cat, his muscles clearly defined and rippling beneath his damaged skin. Slowly he moved towards her, over her...

She whimpered, overcome with need...

...and suddenly felt as though her skull was coming apart.

Clutching her head, she rolled onto her side, her whimper becoming a gasp of pain.

And he was instantly there, hovering over her. "Love? What is it?"

"I'll be alright," she gasped, holding her head and rocking. "Just give me a minute."

A strong hand pushed her onto her back, holding her still while the other hand came up to settle gently on her neck. "Your blood pressure is up," he observed.

"You think?" she managed to squint up at him took a few deep breaths before laughing. "I can't imagine how that happened..."

He removed his hands to the bed on either side of her and went back to crouching over her. His head dipped down low to nuzzle her neck.

"There now; that will teach you to stare at me with those beautiful brown eyes and think such lascivious things," he whispered near her ear, his voice raising her desire to an even higher level despite the pain in her skull.

Despite herself, she moaned when the lips of his mask grazed her ear.

"If you were feeling better I would have to chastise you for your lustful thoughts," he admonished teasingly. "Do you think this body is merely your plaything?"

"Uh… no?" she answered, unsure of where this was going.

"I do wish you'd reconsider that answer, love," he sighed, sounding disappointed.

She found herself giggling, then reached up and ran her hands down his chest as he began to sit up. "You're my favorite playmate, not my plaything," she breathed, already feeling better.

As she made to move her hands further down his body, he groaned and caught them in his own.

"As you are mine; my only one and the only playmate I shall ever need," he husked. "But for tonight and until you are well enough, you shall instead be my love and bedmate."

"But... I'm feeling better," she protested.

Leaning forward, he nuzzled her with the mask's nose. "Only because you've calmed a bit and although I do relish the thought of incapacitating you with my irresistible charm, I would far rather have you sleeping peacefully in my arms than wincing in agony beneath me."

So saying, he bounded off the bed and turned off the lamp. In the darkness she felt the mattress move, then he crawled in beside her and pulled her into his arms.

His lips met her own, kissing her soundly, his mask apparently left behind after the light was put out.

After a few delightful moments, he rolled onto his back and tucked her against his side with her head resting on his shoulder.

"V?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you really believe in happy endings?"

There was a long pause, then he kissed her forehead. "Oh yes. I do believe in them. There are happy endings. Occasionally you even hear about them in the news or read about them in the papers... or in books."

"But for us; do you believe in a happy ending for us?" she pressed.

He hugged her tightly for a moment. "I have to believe, Evey. The alternative is something I cannot imagine or live through... We must all have something to hope for in this life. So yes, I do believe; I believe that a tree is waiting for both of us; together."

"I love you," she whispered.

"Not half so much as you are loved," he breathed.

**Fin**


End file.
